The Rephaim: Shadows and Haze
by Lulling
Summary: Emma Swan is reeling from her brother's tragic death when a handsome stranger appears. His shocking story about her family and fallen angels thrusts Emma into ancient conflict beyond her imagination. Captain Swan. Based on Paula Weston's the Rephaim series. Now with Haze
1. Chapter 1

I decided to write a fic based on Paula Weston's amazing 'Rephaim' series. This chapter is pretty much taken straight from the first chapter of book one 'Shadows' I don't own the ideas, the series, or OUAT. I just love both of them. If you haven't I suggest you read the rephaim series.

Set in Storybrooke and not intend to tred on any toes.

Blurb:

Emma Swan is reeling from her brother's tragic death when a handsome stranger appears. His shocking story about her family and fallen angels thrusts Emma into ancient conflict beyond her imagination.

I'm running along the boardwalk, wind and sand stinging my arms. It's after work and I have the track to myself. A handful of sailers are battling the choppy waves, and the Gepettos are walking on the beach like they do every morning and afternoon in their matching track outfits and orthopaedic shoes. Their silver heads are bowed against the wind, but they're still holding hands. It makes me feel emptier than usual.

Dark storm clouds scud across the sky. The wind howls, running beside me. I keep running, away from town, towards a fork in the track. The main path continues along the beach. A smaller trail heads into the forest and turns to dirt underfoot. I know before I reach the fork which way I'm going, even though it will further punish my leg. I can live with the pain. It wasn't that long ago I couldn't run at all. And then I could, and didn't want to. But sharing the place with Mary Margret and watching her lace on running shoes every day finally got me off the couch. For a while we ran together, but I was too slow that first month or so. She was adamant she didn't mind, but she'd never tell me if she did. I made the decision for her by running in the afternoons. Turns out I like the solitude.

In the forest, there's little hint of the gale blowing on the beach. It's cooler in here, and quieter. Ferns taller than me crowd along the track, and the fronds brush my arms when I stray too close. Big trees stretch overhead, branches so thick they almost blot out the sky.

I concentrate on the sound of my feet hitting the hard packed dirt. A bird flies above me, a flash of electric blue near the dark forest floor.

Storybrooke is a quaint little town, tucked well away from any other part of the world, bordered by the ocean and closed in by mountains and forest. Being able to run along this lush, sheltered path is one of the reasons I'm still here.

I climbed off the bus nine months ago alongside a bunch of teenagers looking for a good time, not too long after my eighteenth birthday. My plan was to hang around for a few weeks and then move on. It took me a while to find the right place, a place where I wouldn't be noticed. Almost everywhere reminds me of Liam.

Liam would have loved it here. He'd go anywhere as long as there was a beach and a decent bar. He would have owned Storybrooke in a fortnight.

The pain hits my chest so hard my knees buckle. I stumble, barely managing to keep my feet. I try to catch my breath. But it's not a lack of oxygen that's my problem, it's the weight. The cruel, crushing weight.

I lean against a large tree, the trunk rough with dried moss. My chest heaves, my throat burns and I let the tears come. For a while, that's all I do, sob and breathe in cool forest air, fighting the urge to scream. I have to pull it together. I'm stronger than this.

As I straighten, something moves to my left. A flicker. I turn my head and peer into the dense trees, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. There's only a spider web strung between tree trunks, glinting silver. Nothing. Another flicker, at the edge of my vision. It's gone by the time my eyes track it. I wait, hold my breath. There. A shadow, gone again before I blink. It's not any form of animal. Way too tall.

'Hey,' I call out, but my voice is still thick from crying. If someone is here, I need to sound less pathetic. 'Stop fucking around.'

The silence is unnatural now. I can't hear the ocean or the wind. The afternoon light is fading quickly around me.

'Fuck this.' I make my voice hard and sharp, and scan the vines and trees. Then I take off. My plan is to look like I'm casually jogging back the way I came but, two steps on, adrenaline kicks in and I'm running flat out.

I've never noticed how much this trail twists and turns. How close the trees are. The forest is full of shadows, so when I see a dark shape flitting between the ferns to my right, it takes a moment to realise there really is someone in here. Shadowing me. With ease.

I can't turn to look. I can't take my eyes off the track or the tree roots that sprout out of it. I'm fifty metres from the tree line, ferns and webs slapping against my arms and legs. Thirty metres. A vine hits my face. Blood pounds in my ears and my lungs burn. Ten metres. Almost there. I strain to hear footsteps behind me, but the wind muffles everything now.

I burst out of the trees.

Where is everyone? I take the beach track, ignoring the jarring in my bad leg. I hit the sand and my feet sink, but I keep going. Halfway to the waterline, my legs finally turn to jelly. My breath is ragged and my chest is about to explode. I collapse to my knees and look back.

No one has followed me out of the rainforest.

'Hello, love.'

I look up to see the Gepettos on their way back towards town.

'Are you all right, dear?' Mrs Gepetto has to shout to be heard over the wind. Her glasses are clutched between her arthritic fingers, peering at me thought the lenses.

I hold up a hand. I still can't speak. I offer a thumbs up, and they both smile, probably chalking up my bizarre behaviour to some new fitness craze. The run-for-your-life-and-collapse-in-the-sand workout.

I stay on my knees, eyes on the trees. As the sun drops lower in the sky the spiky shadow of a palm tree lengthens across the sand.

No one is coming out of the forest. I feel stupid.

I wish it was all I felt.

THOUGHTS? REVIEWS?


	2. Chapter 2

NOT SO SWEET DREAMS

Mary Margaret and I are in the kitchen of our little place. Mary Margaret has pushed her knitting aside while she reads. I stare at the floor, the countless scratches and stains on the floorboard.

Yesterday's gale is forgotten. I wish I could say the same about what happened in the forest. I keep turning it over, trying to figure it out. I was on edge before the figure shadowed me out of the trees. It's like my body sensed a threat before I saw that dark shape. But was there a threat, really? The concept seemed impossible now, this was Storybrooke for goodness sake the place was like a fairy tale. Unreal. Now I'm not sure the figure was even there.

Mary Margaret has been staring at the laptop for a few minutes, her breakfast untouched. I move to the other side of the bench and rinse the dishes in the sink. I can't help myself. When I've finished I stand behind her—I check over her shoulder to see what part she's up to.

She looks around at me. 'You really wrote this?'

I nod, wary.

She sips her hot coco with cinnamon. 'Emma…this stuff's in your head?'

'I have weird dreams.'

'But what made you put it online?' She gestures to the screen. 'Why this website?'

'Think lovely Thoughts?' I wipe my hands on the back of my leg. 'The short story with the most votes wins a thousand bucks.'

She stares back at the screen, clicks the mouse and then looks at me again. I'm wearing old faded jeans and a white singlet. At least I don't look threatening. Mary Margaret doesn't seem so sure anymore. Whatever happened in the forest yesterday, I can't tell her about it. Not now.

She gets up from the bench and puts her cup on the bench. She's still in her pyjamas, her pixie cut black hair framing her face. Her skin so pale she's almost as white as snow. Mary Margaret has lived here for as long as she can remember, alongside the beach, clock towerand Granny's diner. She works at the local school, teaching third graders, the school is run by her mother. Every kid in town is enrolled as it has a high reputation and there is a lack of another school within the towns perimeter.

'Don't look at me like that,' I say. 'Maybe I like this stuff because it's not real.' An escape.I run a hand through my hair, which is white blonde and a mess. It's long strands are hard to manage. A bit like me.

'I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it. It's just a little gory, that's all. I didn't even know you liked to write.' Her smile is easier now. This is firmer territory. 'Have you got any other stories?'

She means any others not involving hell-beasts and beheadings. I give her a lopsided grin. 'It's all right, I won't make you read any more.'

Her face falls. 'Oh, Em, I didn't mean—'

'Stop that,' I say, catching her eye.

'No, really, if you want to talk about, you know, stuff.'

I really don't want to have this conversation. 'Mary Margaret Blanchard,' I say in my best impression of her mother. 'It's not that big a deal.'

'But it's getting close, though, isn't it?'

I keep smiling. 'It's okay.' It's a lie, but it's the easiest thing to say.

In eight days, it'll be a year since Liam died. He was my twin.

'Don't you have to work this morning?' I ask.

Maggie glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. 'I'd better get moving.' She takes two steps towards the stairs and stops. 'You know you can talk to me, though, right?'

'I know. Thanks.'

I like Mary Margaret. She's the only person I've felt normal with since the accident. And I know she's had her own share of loss. But this isn't something I'm going to chat about over hot coco with cinnamon.

She ascends the stairs slowly, in case I change my mind. I go to turn off the laptop. I know every word, but I have to read the story again, try to see it through Mary Margaret's eyes. The nightclub draped with corpses. The hell-beast with the glistening teeth and toaster head. Me, cutting that head off with a sword, alongside a guy who has eyes as blue as the sea and smells like sea and rum.

I'm surprised Mary Margaret made it through as far as she did. I'm glad she didn't ask me how much of it I'd actually dreamed, or how often the guy with the blue eyes turns up to fight monsters at my side. Morning after morning, I wake up with him lingering in my thoughts and I feel guilty without any idea why.

I've named him Charles. In the end it was a relief to get him out of my head and onto paper.

HAPPY HOUR

It's late Friday afternoon and The Rabbit Hole is starting to fill up. It's the only place to be this time of the week. The bar opens into a private room and Mary Margaret and I have a grand view onto the street sitting at the window, talking to each other in casual easy chit chat. The sun is setting outside, gradually making it's way towards the horizon, leaving a soft glow of warm colours in the sky and across the ocean. Through the window pane people are either rushing home to seek comfort before night truly arrives, or sneaking out for the night life. Here in the bar with Mary Margaret beside me, and warm, alcohol laced air around us I feel safe. Protected.

'Hello, ladies.' Neal stacks glasses together and puts them on his tray, then wipes down the table. 'How are we this fine evening?'

'Glad the week's over,' Mary Margaret says.

Neal looks at me, waiting. He's working shifts here to pay his way to a bigger and better life, outside Storybrooke.

'Thirsty,' I say, holding up my empty beer bottle.

He leans around Mary Margaret to grab it. 'Let me rectify that.'

I let him take it, and pretend not to notice him checking me out. Neal meets my gaze, knowing he's been caught. He's the sort of guy most girls find sexy: brown hair, hopeful smile and a growing moustache. Easy company. Hot body. And still hopeful I'll go home with him some night.

'Imagine what he'd do if you wore a short skirt,' Mary Margaret says when he heads back to the bar. 'He'd probably have a heart attack.'

I look down at my outfit, unchanged from this morning and then at her. 'We can't all pull off outfits with lots of skin.'

Mary Margaret is wearing a pencil skirt that stops just above her knees and a buttoned up white blouse. It's a bit more daring then her normal attire still modest but appealing 'You could,' she says, with an encouraging smile. 'You're just not brave enough.'

'You've got that right.' I might be toned again, but I'm still not flashing too much skin—for a number of reasons.

After my second beer and her glass of wine, Mary Margaret leans in close. 'Check out the new arrival at the bar. He hasn't stopped staring at you.'

I turn and skim the faces. Nothing of interest, as usual. But then I see him and stop breathing.

'Don't gawk.' Mary Margaret nudges me, teasingly scolding me.

I turn around.

It's impossible.

He looks like the guy I keep dreaming about. Exactly like him: short dark brown hair so dark it's almost black, sticking out like he's just woken up, a combed moustache the same colour as his hair, a beautiful face, and eyeliner framing beautiful piercing blue eyes, seeking me out in the crowd. He's dressed like no one else in the bar. Leather pants, leather boots, a long dark blue shirt that matches his eyes open a few buttons down letting a dark tuft of chest hair peak out, a low cut leather vest and finally a leather jacket.

I look again. He's facing me now, elbows behind him on the worn timber bar like he owns the place. All he needs is a sword in one hand and a severed head in the other.

He's watching me watching him. He can't be more than twenty.

I finish my drink. 'My shout. Ready?'

'You're going to talk to him?' Mary Margaret's eyes widen, shocked, and surprised.

'Yep.'

'Wait up.' She empties her glass and covers her mouth to hide a small hiccup.

'Let's go.' She heads straight for him.

I follow her, not really sure what I'm doing.

Mary Margaret props her arms on the bar and waits to be served. I position myself between her and the Charles lookalike, and pretend I'm trying to get Neal's or another bartenders attention.

'Interesting place.' The voice next to me is low, with a slight growl to it, a hint of a beautiful accent. He even sounds like Charles. Or how Charles sounds in my head.

I turn to him, trying hard to be casual about it. He's studying me, almost wary. His eyes are so blue, eyelashes long…god, it is Charles. This guy is real.

There's only one explanation.

'Do I know you?'

His laugh comes from somewhere deep in his chest. 'Are you seriously chatting me up?'

'What? No.' I bite my lip and turn away.

Somebody shoot me, please. I haven't given anyone a second glance since well before the accident. And here I am blushing because this guy happens to resemble someone I see in my increasingly violent dreams.

He looks past me. 'Friend of yours? She's cute.'

Mary Margaret is working hard to pretend she's not listening, but her lip twitches into a smile and gives her away. I take a step back. 'Don't let me get in the way.'

'But I came all this way to see you, Swan.'

I stiffen. 'How do you know my name?'

He frowns and looks at Mary Margaret again before his attention settles back on me. He measures his words. 'I knew your brother.'

'What?' The chatter in the room spikes. Loud voices, laughter, clinking glasses: a wall of noise. The shelf of cocktail bottles behind him blurs. I grip the bar.

'Tell me what happened,' he says.

I breathe in and out. In. And out. Someone calls Neal's name.

'Tell me,' he says again. 'You were there, right?'

All the guilt and grief and anger are back in the space of a heartbeat, suffocating me. 'Of course I was there.' I clench my teeth. 'I was in the car.'

Mary Margaret puts her arm around my waist. 'Back off,' she says to him with as much venom as I've heard from her.

It's his turn to stare. "The car? What car?'

I give him a black look. 'I don't need this.' I push away from Mary Margaret.

I make it a few paces before he grabs my arm. 'Swan.'

I jerk away from him. 'Fuck off.'

He lets go, and glances at the faces around us. A few drinkers are watching with interest. He takes a deep breath then smiles like nothing has happened. 'Come on, let me buy you a drink.'

'Why?'

'To talk.'

'About Liam?' I hate how much my voice still cracks when I say his name.

'Yeah.'

'Why?'

His smile fades. 'Because I miss him.'

And that's all it takes.


	3. Chapter 3

ONE TOO MANY

He buys us both beers and leads me to the corner of the room. Somehow he finds a spare table with a stool, which I take. Mary Margaret stays at the bar, but has one eye on us and the other on the blond haired man next to her. He must be new in town. He's still in cargos, and a tight fitting grey singlet, well aware she's checking him out.

'Swan—'

'That's not my name.'

'What?'

There's a lot of chatter around us, and I have to speak up. 'It's Emma. Who the hell are you?'

He gives me a strange smile. 'Killian.'

Not a common name. I search my memories. 'He never mentioned you. You couldn't have known Liam that well.' Of course I've seen him almost every night for a year, but I'm not telling him that.

He watches me for a moment and then pulls out his phone. He flips through a few images, and then turns it to me. My breath catches. It's Liam, smiling, with a large fish in his hands. He's smiling proudly at the camera, wearing a cap to protect himself from the sun, his curly hair still manages to come out at the sides. He has—had—dark hair unlike me, and somehow he looks different from how I remember him. Wilder somehow.

Killian flicks his thumb across the screen and another image comes into view. This time it's the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, with a packed stadium behind them. A soccer match. They're both laughing. Brothers in arms. Another, Liam and Killian again, photo after photo.

I don't realise I'm touching the screen until the image flicks off and another appears. Killian hesitates and then lets me take the phone. This one is of Liam sitting at a table, outdoors somewhere. There's an orange-streaked sky behind him and a calm sea. He's wearing a beanie; his hair is sticking out underneath. His head and shoulders fill the frame, but he's not looking at the camera. Something offscreen is holding his gaze. He's thinking, trying to figure something out. It's the quiet, more adult Liam he had to be sometimes to make sure we both stayed safe. He looks about seventeen, not long before the accident, but I can't work out when any of these could have been taken.

I can't look away. Seeing new images of Liam. I know it's going to rip my heart out sometime soon, but right now it feels like a gift.

'Can you send me these?'

'If you want.'

I can't place his accent, just that he isn't exactly from around here.

'When did you last see him?'

He's measuring me again, like it's a trick question. He swigs his beer. 'Just before you two took off.' He looks me over. It's not subtle. 'Were you hurt?'

I nod.

'How bad?'

'Bad enough.' I'm glad my hair's down and I'm not flashing skin. Not flashing hideous scars to prying eyes.

He raises his eyebrows.

I sigh. 'Broken leg, two busted ribs, twenty stitches in my neck, bruised spleen, huge lump on my head.' That's only the physical injuries. 'How come I've never heard of you?'

He runs his thumb down the length of his beer bottle. It's very distracting. 'You tell me.'

I look straight at him, at those blue eyes I could get lost in, there's a scar down the side of his cheek and I'm taken aback again by how familiar he is. I must have met him before. How else could I have pictured him so clearly? But why have I been dreaming of him?

'I lost some things, after the accident. There's a few gaps here and there.'

In truth, the details of my life before the night of the crash are still in a fog. Leaving our old lives, all the shit and baggage we left to escape, it's all sitting there under a layer of numbness I'm not ready to deal with.

Killian leans forward, and he smells of the sea and rum, just the faintest trace of it.

'So, what are you doing'—he looks around—'here?'

'It's peaceful and homey,' I say without thinking. 'I like it here. Everything's simple.'

'And how long do you plan on keeping things simple?'

'As long as I can.'

'I find that hard to believe.'

He settles back and the smell of him is replaced by beer, wood-fired pizza, and chemical perfumes and aftershaves worn by other people in the bar. I watch, fascinated, as he tears the label off the bottle without looking. He rips neat long strips and then absently pastes them on the table in a row, like soldiers. Exactly how Liam used to.

For once, I'm thinking about Liam without it feeling like I'm swallowing wet cement.

'You wanted to talk about Liam?'

He nods. 'Your shout, though.'

I raise my eyebrows, but go to the bar. Mary Margaret is still with the guy at the bar. She's always polite to the guys who flirt with her, but she actually seems interested in whatever he's saying. She touches his arm when she speaks, her eyes bright.

Neal serves me. 'Who's that?' he asks.

I follow his gaze and meet Killian's. 'Friend of Liam's.'

I go to pay, and find Neal staring at me. He's never heard me say Liam's name before, though Mary Margaret told him the story, and I guess it's taken him by surprise. 'You okay?'

'I'm fine.' I avoid his eyes and take the beers back to the table.

'New boyfriend?' Killian asks.

'He's on the shortlist.'

'Brave man.'

I fold my hands on the table and wait.

'You seriously want me just to talk about Liam?'

The truth is, I don't know if I want him to or not, but I nod anyway. Killian regards me. It takes him a few seconds to begin speaking.

'Liam took me sailing once just off the coast of Ireland,' he says, 'and I had never been before, Liam asked, no insisted he show me the ropes. Typical Liam.'

I picture it as the story unfolds: Liam sailing with the wind in his hair and nothing for miles but an endless sea of blue. I'm listening, but the distance between me and Killian is so much wider than the table separating us. I can't stop thinking: I don't remember Liam ever telling me about sailing in Ireland or even going to Ireland

Killian breaks into a grin as he describes Liam telling him once he got his bearings it would be as easy as pie and Killian trusting and believing Liam's words of reassurance.

'He taught me of port and starboard. God, I almost sent us over the side of the boat the minute my hand touched the wheel. Then I was sick like a dog over the rails. But he still made me learn and practice until I had the skill of someone born with the sea in their blood. Here—'

With a few flicks of his thumb, Killian brings up a photo of two guys sitting on the side of a large sail boat They look ridiculous with their legs hanging from the ground dwarfed by the scale of the boat. Both are wearing caps, sunglasses and life jackets, but I'd know Liam anywhere, and the other man sitting beside him is unmistakably Killian. It doesn't make any sense. Just how much did I lose in that car wreck?

I can't focus. I need space. 'I'll be back in a minute,' I tell Killian. I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face. It doesn't help.

Killian watches me walk back through the crowded room and I feel heat climbing up from my chest. 'You're really going to keep this up?' he asks when I sit back down.

I have no idea what he's getting at, and when I don't answer, he leans in closer.

'What about if I do this?' He runs his fingers through my hair, not quite far enough to discover the scar at the nape of my neck. It feels good. So good, I sigh.

With his hand still in my hair, he brings his lips down to my ear. 'You're not going to hit me?'

'Not yet.'

'What about if I do this?' He kisses my neck, just under my ear, his warm tongue against my skin. I can't help myself. I shudder with the pleasure of it. It's been so long since I let anyone touch me. I don't even mind that it's my neck.

He pulls back, watches my eyes. He's the type of guy who never goes home alone, but it's as if he's expecting rejection. From me. It's endearing. I put my glass on the table and touch his lips with cool fingers. They're as soft as they look.

I kiss him.

He kisses me back, but he's not really committed. It's like he's waiting for something. I run my fingers over his arms, pull him to me. His grip tightens on my hair and his arm comes around my waist. He's not waiting anymore. It's all heat and breath and tongue. I've never been kissed like it. It's amazing.

Finally, after what feels like an indecently long time, we pull apart. His eyes are ocean-dark.

'I had no idea you were this good.' He's breathing fast, but then so am I, and my head is a little swimmy, between the beer, the noise of the bar and the heat in my body. The night air is heavy with alcohol and sea.

'I think it's time to get you home.' Mary Margaret is beside me, pushing a half-full bottle out of my reach. I didn't notice her coming. 'Big day tomorrow. You have to work, remember?'

Killian takes his hands from my waist. It's not what I want. What I want is to take him back to my room and see what else I might be good at.

He finishes my beer. 'Work where?' He's still watching me closely.

'The animal shelter,' Mary Margaret says, pulling me off the chair.

'You work in an animal shelter?'

'Certainly do.' My legs are a little shaky so I keep hanging on to Mary Margaret.

He throws his head back and laughs. 'That's priceless.' He leans in and kisses me again, tongue and all, right in front of Mary Margaret . I feel him smiling before he pulls back. 'See you soon, Emma!'

He disappears into the crowd, every girl he passes checking him out.

'Oh, Emma.' Mary Margaret squeezes my arm. 'What's gotten into you?'

I don't answer because, honestly, I don't know.


	4. Chapter 4

I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING

I wake up seedy. The pain in the base of my skull is a dull throb rather than a steady pounding, so I guess I should be grateful.

Mary Margaret is in the kitchen when I shuffle in, reading the paper and drinking from her favourite mug. My stomach turns.

'So this is what tall, dark and handsome would have woken up to? You definitely owe me.'

I look down. I'm wearing well worn white and pink flanneled pyjamas a matching set, and my hair's a bird nest. 'He was not tall dark and handsome.' I say giving her a pointed look and sit down on the stool beside her, thankful for something solid under me.

'Yeah right.' She says returning my look. She smiles, but she's not as playful as she's making out. Mary Margaret hates conflict, but if she's got something to say, she'll find a way to say it. It usually takes her a while to find the right words, so I'm guessing she's spent the last hour stewing over whatever it is she wants to say to me. It's a wonder she hasn't pulled out her craft bag—not that she needs to knit another scarf she'll never wear with the collection she has.

'Every second guy in that bar has made a play for you over the past nine months,' she starts. 'You show no sign of interest. And then along comes this guy, and you go from snarling at him to sticking your tongue down his throat in the space of an hour. In front of Neal!'

She's known Neal for a long time. It's no secret she hopes we'll hook up. She thinks he'll be my happy ending

'What's going on, Emma?'

I shrug. 'It just happened.'

She closes the newspaper, folds it and pushes it aside. 'Is this a grief thing?'

'Maybe. I don't know.'

'But why him?'

Thinking about Killian brings a flush of warmth across my chest. God, I was ready to drag him home last night. I don't even know his last name, or where he's from. Or, now that I think about it, how he knew where to find me.

I shrug again. 'Did you see him?'

She nods. 'Oh, he's got it all happening, all right. I just think you might want to ease yourself back into the dating pool. Not throw yourself in the shark tank.'

I laugh. I can't help it. She so rarely gets this annoyed.

'Does this have anything to do with that story of yours?'

I stop laughing. 'What are you talking about?' I get up and go to make myself a hot coco wishing for something stronger.

'You've been writing that violent stuff, and now you're all over some guy we've never seen before. I didn't know that was your type.'

'It's not.' I make the coco while she talks.

'But you're going to see him again?'

'It's a small town, and you did tell him where I work.' I pull out the cream from the fridge and whip it into a pretty point on top of the warm liquid. I pull the cinnamon out from the cupboard, dust the cream with the spice and sit back down beside a disapproving Mary Margaret.

'Is it because he knows Liam? Is that why you could talk to him?'

Finally, the light comes on. Mary Margaret isn't worried about my romantic relations; she's hurt that I can talk about my brother with a complete stranger, and not with her.

I met Mary Margaret on my first day in Storybrooke, when she inadvertently bumped into me on the way out of Granny's with a steaming cup of coco. I had a brown stain down my singlet for the rest of the day but I bought her a coco to apologise. Before I knew it, we were talking about nothing and suddenly I found myself with something I hadn't had since Liam's death, a friend. Then she put in a good word for me at the animal shelter and talked me into moving out of the bed and breakfast and in with her. I think she needed the company and companionship as much as me. We got the place and didn't care about the minor annoyances: how small it was, the lack of privacy, the front door with no lock, and the odd almost quaint styling of the place. I've always been grateful.

I take a deep breath, wanting to give her something.

'Every time I think of Liam, it's like someone's stabbing me in the heart.' I tap my breastbone with two fingers. I feel the tears coming and for once I don't force them away. 'I can't stand it, so I avoid it. But Killian…he knows Liam, and he misses him and, I don't know, it was a bit easier because he's grieving too.' I turn away before the tears spill down my cheeks.

Mary Margaret shuffles closer and puts her arms around me. She and her mum are mad huggers. All about hope and faith. I don't remember being hugged or touched all that much before I came here. It used to make me uncomfortable when they did it, but now I don't mind so much. Even so, Mary Margaret keeps it short, giving me a tight squeeze, and then letting go.

'I'm sorry. I'm such a crap friend,' she says.

I pull myself together. 'Mary Margaret, you are many things, but a crap friend is not one of them.' I smile at her, and I mean it. I need for us to be okay.

'Really?'

'Absolutely.'

She smiles.

I check the clock. 'We'd better get ready.' I throw down my coco and race her for the shower. It's only when I'm under the dribbling hot water that it hits me: I slept through the night without dreaming of hell-beasts. Or Charles.

FINGERNAILS

Storybrooke animal shelter, sits positioned in a line of other service providers on the main road of the town. A bright blue fish tank with an assortment of different fish sits in the foyer, along with a couches and a table in the centre, magazines falling off the side. The shelter was always low in volunteers so credentials and references weren't an issue when Mary Margaret put in a good word and I asked for a job. It's my haven. It was pretty much always quiet so I spend most of the time out back with all the sick and injured animals.

Anton, the manager of the shelter sits at the front counter when I walk in. Anton was very much welcoming when I joined, he was easy and never asked questions, dedicated to his two passions, plants, and animals

'Hey Emma.' He smiles as I put my bag away.

'Hey Anton. Slow morning.' I ask making sure there are no new messages of animals in crisis.

'Yeah something like that.' He says through a yawn. Shifts at the shelter were often unreliable and tiring.

'Why don't you go get yourself a coffee.'

'I'm fine really.' But he yawns again.

'Go on, before you fall asleep on the counter.'

'Thanks Emma.' He calls out as he races out the door, bell chiming after him. I busy myself with tiding and boring paperwork while he's gone.

The bell above the door chimes again.

'That was quick.' I say without looking up from the paper work I'm doing.

'You really weren't kidding about working in an animal shelter.'

I look up quickly.

It's Killian.

He's leaning against the wall just within the shops entrance,. It's as much of a jolt seeing him now as it was in The Rabbit Hole. I'd started to wonder if I'd imagined his likeness to Charles. But it's broad daylight, I'm completely sober, and Killian is still a dead ringer for him. All confidence, attitude, and short, scruffy hair. He gives me a slow, beautiful smile.

.

He's dressed exactly as I saw him in the bar. No difference.

'What are you doing here?'

'Just wanted to see you in action. Make sure you weren't leading me on.' Why would I be leading him on.

'Do you have a crisis with your animal?' I say repeating what Anton has told me to say when someone walks in. Killian just raises his eyebrows like he can't believe what I've said and shifts his arms to bury his hands in the pockets of his jacket. l look back down and pretend the paper in front of me is of some interest.

Killian doesn't move or speak but I can feel his eyes watching me, unnerving me.

'Unless I can help you with something I suggest you..' I stand up to shoo him away but accidentally knock over the pile of papers on the desk. 'Leave.' Seriously.

I come around and sweep the papers off the floor and pretend not to notice when Killian comes over to help.

'Thanks.' I say when the floor is clear.

Anton renters just as we stand up, the bell chime alerting us to his presence.

'Hello there. How can we help you today?' he says.

'Oh, I just had a question but Miss Swan has helped me most efficiently.' Killian says with a smile. I stare at him. Who is this guy?

'I'm glad to hear it.' Anton says with a smile.

'Emma your welcome to go get something for yourself if you like.' Anton's hands are empty of everything but air, he probably stayed at Granny to finish his morning coffee. No wonder he took so long.

I don't know what to say or do so I simply head to Granny's. Of course he follows.

'You distracted me last night,' he says, close to my ear as I run across the road. 'Caught me off guard.' He's not that much taller than me, but for a moment I feel dwarfed by him. 'We still need to talk.'

'About what?' I pull open the door and the smell of coffee and fresh baked goodies greats me as I step in, making my mouth water.

I find a booth and catch the waitresses eye, she comes over before he can answer. I give her my order and when she turns to Killian he simply and politely declines the offer of free food or coco.

Once the waitress leaves he opens his mouth to answer my earlier question but is once again interrupted.

'Emma.'

'Hey Mary Margaret.' I say as she pulls me into a hug and giving me a warm smile.

Her smile falters when she turns and sees Killian.

He stands up. 'I should have introduced myself last night. I'm Killian.' His smile is all warmth and charm. He may have licked my neck last night, but he didn't give me that smile.

'Oh,' she says, completely thrown. 'I'm Mary Margaret. Emma's housemate.' They shake hands. 'What are you getting?'

'I'm having my usual,' I say.

She grins then looks at Killian. 'I'm not getting anything , thank you for asking, Mary Margaret.'

Mary Margaret looks from me to Killian and back to me again. I know that look.

'What time are you knocking off?' she asks me.

'Four-thirty.'

'Why don't you bring Killian home for dinner? David's coming over.'

I lift my eyebrows at her. 'Who's David?' Mary Margaret has admirers, but few of them make it past our front door.

'He's a firefighter, looking for a new job and somewhere to settle down.'

'And when did you meet him?'

She gives me a sly smile. 'Last night.'

'The guy in the grey singlet?'

'I keep telling you, all sorts of people come to town looking for a fresh start.'

I glance at Killian but he looks away pretending not to pay attention. I'll admit, I'm equal parts fascinated and disturbed by him. I don't understand why I have no memory of Liam knowing him, or why he acts like he knows me.

'Well?' Mary Margaret asks looking between us.

'You want to try out Mary Margaret's cooking?' I ask Killian.

He shoves his hands back in his pockets. 'Sure.'

I leave Mary Margaret at the docks on the way home knowing she'll have better luck finding fresh fish without my help, and walk home alone, awkwardly holding a bottle of white wine. I'm breathing heavily when I reach our landing and preoccupied with the amount of stairs it takes to come home, so it takes a second to see him.

Killian is standing in the dark corner next to the door, casually leaning against the wall like nothing is out of the ordinary. Killian is dead still, watching me pant intently.

'Hey,' I say. 'You're not due here for another half-hour.'

He doesn't move and something quivers in my stomach.

'Just drop this shit, Swan.' He says it softly, as if it saddens him. 'As much fun as last night was, I really don't have time for games.'

I stand there, the bottle ice-cold against my chest. My fingers are numb.

'You're supposed to be dead,' he says.

I cross the landing and put the wine down on the welcome mat. When I face him again, he has turned a little to the side and is flexing his fingers. 'I didn't come here to fight, but that doesn't mean I won't.' His smile is wry. 'I reckon I could take you in record time. You've gone soft.'

The power of speech finally returns to me. 'What the fuck are you talking about?'

He paces across the landing, looking cramped, his eyes on me. 'You can drop the act. Your little friend's still down the street.'

'I don't know who the hell you think I am—'

'Bloody Hell, Swan, if you didn't want to be found, why'd you post that story on a website you'd know I'd read?'

My mouth falls open. 'You read that?'

'How do you think I found you?'

I step back and grab on to the front door but it's smooth and my fingers slip. My legs feel weak. Pressure builds in my head. 'You need to go.'

'Just tell me how he died. Tell me what you did. If you and Liam got yourselves into trouble, I can help—'

I slam my fist on the door. 'We weren't into anything! We were arguing over music and he took his eyes off the road. We rolled and went through a fence. A post came through the window and took his head off. Is that what you want to hear?' I'm shouting at him, and I can't stop. 'His blood was all over me and I couldn't find his head. I don't know why I'm still alive—I wish I wasn't!'

I'm shaking. From grief and rage and shock. Nothing feels real except this. Nothing ever feels as real as this pain. Except the loathing I have for Killian right now. I've never spoken about the accident. Not when they cut me from the car, not when I was in the hospital, not when I was in rehab.

Killian has stopped pacing. 'His head?' He swallows and looks away.

I'm taking deep breaths, trying to hold back tears. I am not crying in front of him.

Killian rubs a hand over his face and scratches behind his ear. 'I wish I knew what the hell was going on here.' He glances down the stairs and sighs. By the time I look up and back to where he's been standing, he's gone. I blink. Open my mouth, close it. Nobody moves that fast.

I don't want Mary Margaret to find me like this, so I go inside and lock myself in the bathroom. I sit on the edge of the tub, staring at the tiles on the floor. If I let go now, I won't be able to stop. I run the shower and get in, shaking, and wait for the warm water to calm me.

What the hell is going on?


	5. Chapter 5

WHAT LURKS IN THE DARK

By the time I've showered and dressed, I've convinced myself I'm fine. David turns up on time with a bottle of wine and flowers worth more than the entire contents of our fridge. He seems keen to impress Mary Margaret, but he doesn't talk in riddles, kiss her fiercely or demand to know why she's not dead. So how serious about her can he be?

'Is Killian still coming?' Mary Margaret is pouring a second round of drinks. Her food is in the oven baking slowly and the kitchen smells devine. Someone on acoustics is strumming out a tune from the speakers of the radio.

'I doubt it.'

She puts the bottle down. 'What happened?'

'We had words.'

'Emma,' she chides. 'You hardly know him. How can you be arguing already?' But I can see in her eyes that she has an idea, and it's not as comforting to her as I thought it would be.

David is sitting on a stool by the bench, relaxed and easy in our cramped home. 'Men,' he says and smiles.

He's certainly easy on the eyes. His hair is dirty blonde, cut short and his face clean shaven. He's got an open face, and chiseled chin. with deep blue eyes. All this and a fireman? Mary Margaret may have hit the jackpot. She obviously thinks so—she can't stop looking at him.

'Shame they're all bastards,' I say to David and raise my glass.

He chokes on his drink, and then recovers. 'So young, and yet so jaded.'

I shrug, and give him my best jaded smile, forcing myself to be sociable for Mary Margaret's sake.

'So where are you from, originally?' he asks.

Small talk. Great.

'All over.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, bounced around from place to place, travelled a lot.'

'Where are you're parents?'

Clearly Mary Margaret didn't cover every taboo topic with her new boy here. 'No idea. We never knew each other, bit hard when you abandon your kids.'

His brow creases. 'But what about…' He stops. 'Sorry. None of my business. I didn't mean to pry.'

How can I go almost a year without talking about Liam and then have this many conversations about him in less than twenty-four hours? 'Liam and I looked out for one another, and they had Liam's funeral while I was in intensive care, not sure if anyone came. The nurse said someone had come to collect the ashes.'

David opens his mouth and then closes it without speaking. I don't blame him. What can you say to that?

My glass is empty, so I take it as my cue. 'Look, I might just leave you two to it.'

Mary Margaret blocks me on the way to my room. 'Emma. You need to eat, and I've made enough food to feed an army.'

David smiles. 'And then maybe after dinner, we can head down to The Rabbit Hole and see who's around town.'

Mary Margaret gives him a look that says if he keeps this up he's heading in the right direction to make it well beyond the kitchen tonight. And on his first attempt too. I'd cheer for him if I wasn't so preoccupied with my own troubles.

'We could do that,' I say. Part of me wants to see Killian and punch him in the head. Part of me wants to beg him to tell me what's going on. Only a very, very small part doesn't want to see him at all. 'But don't come crying to me if it ends badly.'

The food is delicious, and I'm glad Mary Margaret made me stay for it. David helps her clean up as I push my wine glass around the table. They have an easy way with each other that makes my chest ache. He's been asking her about food and school. He tells her about the adventures he's had, both in his free time and his heroic duties as a fireman. His bravery is not wasted on Mary Margaret. They laugh a lot. Maybe if I'd shown more interest in Neal I'd be enjoying that sort of uncomplicated attention myself right now.

We take a shortcut through town across the serene riverbank. It's not that much quicker but it's calming. Peaceful. The lampposts illuminate the path. It's the kind of area family's come for a Sunday picnic. Barbecues and park benches contrast against the vast greenery and tranquil water front. The smell of burnt sausages lingers in the air.

My stomach is churning at the thought of seeing Killian at the bar. Will he pretend nothing's happened? Will we talk? What if he's not there? What if he is?

I'm still stewing over it when a figure emerges out of the trees and steps onto the path ahead of us.

'I don't believe it.' The voice is deep, male and surprised. I look at Mary Margaret and David, assuming one of them knows him, but they're looking at each other and me with the same expectation.

I step forward. There's enough light from the lamppost to see that he's good looking with wavy locks of chestnut coloured hair, longer than it looks and a matching mustache. He's wearing a long-sleeved puffy shirt, with a sleeveless cargo green hoodie on top and heavy-duty pants suggest he hasn't been in town long enough to dress the part.

'Emma.'

I freeze. How does this man know my name? Know who I am?

He's shaking his head, slowly. 'I would have sworn this was a trap. I never expected to find you here.' He runs a hand through his hair. 'I can't believe you're alive. Why didn't you just come home?'

A coldness settles in my stomach. I've never seen this guy before.

'Friend of yours?' David asks, moving in front of me in an oddly protective gesture.

'No. And I'm getting sick of being told I should be dead.'

The guy lets out a small laugh. 'It's just a shock to see you.'

A breeze stirs behind me, caressing my hair. His face hardens. 'So, it's true then.' All friendliness is gone from his voice.

I turn and stumble. Killian is standing close by, not looking at me. 'Finders keepers,' he says.

'Killian, you have no claim here.'

'And you Robin, how can you be so sure? You didn't even know she was alive.' Killian says continuing, he moves closer to me, and even though the guy, Robin, is a few metres away, he steps back. 'You don't know what happened, do you?' Killian asks.

'Do you?'

Killian ignores him. 'How did you find her?'

'Followed you.'

'Bullshit. You can't track me any more than I can track you.'

He smiles. 'You need to get with the times, Killian. We tracked you online. Honestly, we thought you were bored and planted that story to draw us into a fight.'

I look from one to the other. This has to stop. 'Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on here?'

Robin tsks. 'I see you haven't lost that foul mouth.'

Mary Margaret is beside me, linking her arm through mine. 'Let's just go. We'll get to The Rabbit Hole and then we can sort out all of this inside.' She pulls me across the path past the barbecue and, beyond it, toward the bright safety of the Main Street. We've taken only half a dozen steps when something flashes out of the trees and slams into us.

Mary Margaret cries out and we both hit the grass. Pain jolts through my shoulder and I raise my head to see a girl roll past me and spring back up. She's a bit older than me, dressed in a blue blazer and black trousers, her black hair in waves around her shoulders. She looks more like she's going out to a fancy dinner than a fight in the forest, beautiful but lethal. She's already crouched, ready to attack again. Her head whips around to David, who's helping Mary Margaret back to her feet.

'Don't even think about it,' she says to him. 'Just stay there and you won't get hurt.'

I scramble back, the grass cool and slick under my fingers, and she follows, more cautious now.

'What do you want?' My voice is hoarse.

'Regina,' Robin says, flicking nervous glances at Killian, but moving closer. 'Be careful.'

Regina hasn't taken her eyes from me. 'I want to know why you betrayed us.' Another step. 'Was it worth it? Did you find Semyaza?'

I back up against a tree with nowhere to go. Panicked, I look for Killian. I try to stand, but my legs don't want to work.

'You know they'll do what they have to, Swan, to take you back,' Killian says. He's still on the other side of the path, his face in shadow. 'I suggest you drop the bullshit right now. Get up and fight.'

'You bastard.' David glares at Killian, and then charges across the path at Robin, who like Killlian claims to know me. Robin doesn't flinch. He spins around and kicks David in the chest, hard, sending him flying.

'Stop it!' Mary Margaret rushes over to him. 'Killian, what's going on?' She helps David sit up. There's blood trickling from her knee.

Killian doesn't move.

There's grass and a piece of broken glass under my fingertips. In the distance, music thumps from somewhere down Main Street. The dusk has slipped out of the sky and the dark is hunkering down. As I crouch there, it occurs to me this may be my last twilight. I may actually die here. A few months ago, I might have welcomed it. But not now. And not here, like this.

A jolt of adrenaline launches me to my feet, but before I can swing at Regina, she smashes her fist into the side of my head. The landscape reels around me and I reach for a branch to steady myself as she grabs the back of my shirt. I'm airborne. And then I slam into a tree. I bounce off it. Face-plant into the dirt. My ribs are in serious trouble. There's blood in my mouth and on my face. I'm still trying to work out if I can move when someone kicks me in the kidneys. White light explodes behind my eyelids. I grunt and curl into a ball, but the kicks keep coming. Dimly, I hope Mary Margaret has got away.

'You're a traitor.' Regina is panting as she lays her boot into me, this time to my spine. 'You're going to tell us—' But she doesn't finish. There's a yelp, and then silence. I lie there, every breath like a knife in my lungs.

And then Killian is kneeling down in front of me. He touches my face and tries to roll me over, but my whimpering stills his hands.

'Oh, shit,' he says. 'Shit. Shit.' He stands, and all I can see are his boots as he paces in front of me. I'm losing consciousness when he crouches down again, his warm fingers back on my face. 'Fuck.'


	6. Chapter 6

LOST IN CONFUSION

'Emma.'

Mary Margaret's voice is far away, indistinct.

'Don't touch her,' Killian says. 'I've got this.'

Mary Margaret's heels come to a halt near me and David's shoes limp behind her.

'What was that?' It's David. 'Why didn't you get involved before that madwoman threw her into a tree?'

'Because Swan should have been able to handle them both in her sleep.' Killian brushes dirt from my cheek.

'Are you insane? She was terrified and you just stood there.' Mary Margaret tries to move around him. 'Let me see to her.'

Killian blocks her.

Sounds of her fumbling in her handbag.

'Then I'm calling an ambulance—'

'You're not.'

The anger in his voice cuts through my pain. I try to move, but all I do is whimper some more.

Killian is next to me again.

'Look,' he says. 'I can help her, but you two need to get away from here.'

'No chance.' It's David again. 'We're not leaving her with you.'

'Don't think I won't hurt you if you get in the way.'

Nobody moves.

Killian lets out an impatient sigh. 'Fine. But you're not calling an ambulance. I'll get her inside.'

'You can't pick her up. What if her neck's broken?'

His fingers gently probe under my hair. 'It's not.'

Before Mary Margaret or David can stop him, he scoops me up in his arms. Pain rips up my spine and forks through me like lightning. I cry out. Then Mary Margaret is there, pushing hair out of my bloodied face.

'Oh, Emma.' She's crying.

David is close by, his mouth set in a grim line.

'Sorry,' I whisper and swallow another mouthful of blood. I hang limply in Killian's arms, my head resting against his chest as he walks.

'At what point are you going to explain what just happened?' David asks.

Killian doesn't answer.

'I mean it.'

Killian keeps walking.

'Mary Margaret's place isn't this way.'

'Mine's closer.'

I fade in and out. And then a door opens and a light flicks on. I see Killian's face above me and, beyond that, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, spindly shadows on the wall.

'You two stay out here.' We move further into the house.

'What are you going to do?' Mary Margaret is panicked. Her shoes slap on the floor behind us.

'Just give me a minute. One bloody minute.' Killian slams a door behind us, not bothering to turn a light on. He kicks something in front of the door, maybe a chair.

A fist thumps against the door. 'That's it, I'm calling the police and—'

But I don't hear the rest of David's threat because my ears are filled with the sound of a howling gale. And I'm so cold, I can't draw breath. My body feels like it's being stretched and compressed at once, and my head swims. At last, I pass out.

I wake in a bed that's not mine. The blankets are rough and the pillow smells like rum and sea. I open my eyes to find Killian sitting in a chair not far from me, elbows on his knees. It's still night.

'Don't freak out,' he says.

The reading lamp on the bedside table is the only light. In its soft glow the room is almost bare, but for a pile of clothes on the floor.

'I don't understand.'

He sighs. 'Yeah, I get that.'

'Where are we?'

'Safe. For now.'

'Mary Margaret?'

'She and Dave are in the other room. They're fine.'

I've never felt so exhausted in my life. I close my eyes, feel the rough wool of the blanket against my skin. And then the realisation hits: I'm exhausted and I ache all over, but I'm not in pain anymore. 'Did you drug me?'

'Of course I didn't.'

Under the blankets I probe my ribs. They're sore, but there's no way I could touch them if they were broken— and they felt broken after I hit that tree.

'Have I been out for a while?'

'Not long. An hour or so.'

'Then how…?' I throw off the blankets and sit up. I'm in a t-shirt two sizes too big, but aside from that all I'm wearing is my undies. My legs are pale from lack of sun, and the deep scars from the crash stand out in stark contrast to my skin. I pull the bedding back over myself.

Killian straightens. 'Just let me figure a few things out.'

'Like why you didn't help me?'

He shrugs, unrepentant. 'I thought it was an act. It didn't cross my mind you wouldn't fight.'

'If I knew how to fight, Killian you wouldn't still be conscious.'

That brings a quick grin to his face. 'See, now that gives me hope all's not lost. You're still in there somewhere.'

'Who's still in here? Who is it you and those psychopaths think I am?'

His smile fades. 'You really don't know.'

'I know exactly who I am. It's everyone else who seems to be having a problem.'

'All right then, Emma. Tell me who you are.'

I eyeball him. 'I'm Emma Swan. I don't know how to fight. I like animals. I'm not good at feelings and emotions. I like the colour yellow and don't care what other people think. I love hot coco with cinnamon. I like onion rings, not fries. Liam was my twin brother and we went together, backpacking and having adventures.'

'How long were you two travelling?'

'About fifteen months.'

'And that was up until a year ago?'

I nod.

'And how old are you?'

'Nearly nineteen.'

He gives me a pointed look. 'You were both only sixteen when you hit the road?' He doesn't wait for an answer. 'Tell me again how he died.'

My chest constricts. 'In the accident.'

'Where?'

'Outside New York. We'd just arrived in—'

'He was driving?'

I nod, swallowing.

'But you were backpacking, weren't you? Where did the car come from? How did he get a licence?'

I blink. I know the answer to this, but it's somewhere in the fog. 'I…I can't remember.'

'You told Dave someone came and said Liam cremated.'

'How did you hear—'

'How do you know Liam was cremated?'

'A nurse told me someone came to get his ashes.'

Killian lifts the blankets to look at my legs. I draw my knees up, away from him.

'I've seen what's under your hair.'

My fingers instinctively touch the thick scar on my neck.

'You think a car accident did all that?'

I snatch the blankets from him and cover myself again. As usual, I don't know what he's talking about. But I do notice he looks pretty wrecked himself. His hair is sticking up at strange angles and there are dark circles under those blue eyes.

'Fine. Give me your version of my life.'

He blows his breath out. 'Okay, how do I explain this?' He drums two fingers against his temple. 'You and Liam had a difference of opinion and fell out for…a while. Last year, you patched things up and started hanging out again. Then you both just took off. Liam rang me to say you were sorting some stuff out, but then, nothing. I didn't hear from him again. Rumours went around that you'd done something really stupid. And that you'd both been killed.'

I blink. He may as well be talking about people I've never met.

'The life you remember is a lie. I've never heard of anyone powerful enough to wipe memories and create new ones, but someone's done it to you, and they've really done a number on you. They've taken your memories and, I don't know, twisted them somehow.' He gets up and walks over to the window. The night sky outside is cloudy, starless. 'You think your parents abandoned you and Liam, that your an orphan and it's haunted you your whole life. You feel guilty about Liam's death, right?'

I don't even bother to answer.

'Well lass I'm here to tell you that everything you believe is wrong'

'You don't know me.' I say quickly, guarded.

'Alas I know you better than you know yourself. You weren't abandoned by your parents, well not as such. Your mother's long dead and your father…well, he's not dead, but you've never met him.'

I open my mouth to argue but he goes on before I can speak. 'So, if your memory of them is so distorted, then your memory of what happened to Liam might be just as inside out.' He bites his lip. 'Do you really remember seeing him lose his head?'

I look at the worn floorboards, but I'm not really seeing them. I remember what it felt like. Is there a difference? My head is pounding again.

'What did Liam and I argue over?'

Killian scratches behind his ear. 'Does it matter?'

I wait.

Another sigh. 'For the moment, let's just say you, me and Liam, we're part of a very large and dysfunctional… association. Within our ranks, there's a difference of opinion about how to tackle a particular problem, and you and Liam chose different sides.'

That makes no sense. 'And you and me?'

'Not on the same side. The last time you saw me, you broke my nose.'

I study his face. His nose looks pretty straight to me, but there's a flush creeping over his cheeks; he's embarrassed. 'Then why did you kiss me last night?'

A half-smile. 'I thought you were messing with my head with all that "do I know you?" crap. I assumed you didn't want to start trouble in front of your new little friend. I was seeing how far I could push you before you snapped.'

His behaviour finally makes sense. Humiliation sweeps over me. I feel my skin reddening. Killian didn't want me. He just wanted to bait me. What the hell would have happened if I'd taken him home?

'What?' he asks, searching my face, and then he understands. 'Oh…'

I slide under the blankets and draw my knees to my chest. 'I need to sleep.'

'There's more,' he says, but doesn't meet my eyes.

'It can wait.' I turn my back so I face the wall, stare at the flaking paint that looks like cracked eggshells. I can feel him behind me. 'Leave me alone.'

'I can't. Not now.'

'At least tell Mary Margaret I'm okay.'

The chair creaks as he stands up. Otherwise the room is silent.

'Just so you know,' Killian says quietly, 'Liam really was my best friend. And I really do miss him.'

'Me too,' I say, and then quietly cry myself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

MORE THAN A LITTLE ALARMING

The smell of toast and bacon rouses me. I sit up. The chair beside the bed is empty. Early morning sunlight filters through the window, showing up the cracks in the walls and clumps of dust on the floor. I probe my side again. I'm not in pain, but I feel strangely hollow, and fragile, like my ribs are bird-bone thin.

There's a gentle knock on the door and it opens a fraction. 'Emma, are you awake?' Mary Margaret peers in. 'Should you be sitting up?' She's at the bed in three steps.

'I'm fine, really.'

'How are you fine? I mean, I'm so glad you're okay, but you were in really bad shape last night.' She sits on the bed. 'Your face, it's almost healed.'

I check my lips and then my cheek. I'm sure I felt my skin split last night.

Mary Margaret studies me. 'What did Killian do in here?'

'I let her rest, which is what you should be doing.' Killian is standing in the doorway, still dressed in last night's clothes, looking well and truly worn. A tea towel is slung over his shoulder and he's holding an egg flip. He looks at me. 'Unless you're hungry.'

'Yeah, I am.' I swing my legs over the side of the bed and carefully stand up. 'I'm also curious as to how I can walk today.'

His eyes stray to my bare legs. 'I guess it wasn't as bad as it looked.'

'She threw me against a tree.'

'You're tougher than you think.'

I felt my ribs break, but I'm not going to push the point. For now. 'Where are my clothes?'

Killian grabs my jeans off the floor and hands them to Mary Margaret. 'Your shirt was covered in blood. Keep that one.'

I look down. I hadn't noticed before, but it's familiar—a memory of Liam in this shirt stirs painfully but I push it away. I pull the shirt up to my face. Somehow there's still a hint of Liam there. He always smelled like he'd just come from the beach. My breath comes out in a sigh.

'What?' he says.

'You like keeping me off balance.'

'You can talk.'

I almost forget how pissed off I am with him. 'Yeah, well, I'm not doing it intentionally.'

Killian takes another look at my bare legs. 'Breakfast is nearly ready,' he says and leaves the room.

'Here,' Mary Margaret says. 'I'll help you get dressed.' She's looking at me. Differently.

I take the jeans from her. 'I have no idea what that was about, last night.'

'I didn't say anything.'

'You didn't have to.'

In the kitchen, David is cooking bacon and Killian is doing the eggs. They don't speak or acknowledge each other as they stand side by side at the grimy gas stove. They're almost the same height, but Killian's shoulders are broader.

I drag out a chair from the table and they both turn.

'Good morning,' David says.

'That smells good.' I sit down. Mary Margaret sits opposite me. Her fingers are drawn to a scratch in the table. She traces it, a long curved line.

We're in a house much smaller than our own place, but a lot older. The paint's peeling out from the walls, and the laminate on the bench is gouged and discoloured. Aside from the table, there's a fridge chipped with rust and a frayed couch. That's it. On the couch is a scrunched-up blanket and a single pillow—obviously not the end to the evening Mary Margaret and David had hoped for. I can see Mary Margaret redesigning the house in her mind—finding some way to make it feel more like a home, and not the run down house that it is. But this place is beyond even her talents.

We eat breakfast in a strained silence. David looking at Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret looking at me. Killian not looking at any of us. David starts stacking the plates when we're finished. He's moving gingerly.

'Are you okay?' I ask.

He rubs a palm over his chest, where the guy in the park kicked him. 'The bruise is starting to come out, but I'll live.' He puts a hand on the back of Mary Margaret's chair and looks at Killian. 'Are we going to talk about what happened in the park?'

Killian pushes his chair back from the table and stretches his legs out on my side. 'Go for it.'

'Let's start with who those two were and why they were so obsessed with Emma.'

Killian eyes him. 'You work in some form of law enforcement, right?'

'I'm a firefighter. You can either tell me what's going on or I can go to the police. Your choice.'

'Knock yourself out.'

I lean forward. 'Well, I'd like to know, seeing as it was me they were trying to kill.'

Killian's laugh is shallow. 'They weren't trying to kill you. Regina just wanted to incapacitate you.' He glances at David and Mary Margaret and then back to me, as if to check that I want him to keep going.

'Why were they here?' I ask.

He taps a finger on the edge of the table. 'You and Liam upset a few people when you disappeared.'

'But Emma doesn't know them,' Mary Margaret says and then to me, 'Do you?'

'No.'

'But Killian does,' David says. 'And they were scared of him.'

I hadn't given much thought to why Regina suddenly stopped kicking me. David meets my questioning look.

'He threw that girl off you like she weighed nothing. Then he chased down the guy and dragged him into the trees. Neither of them came back.' He faces Killian. 'Who's Semyaza?'

Killian's eyes narrow. 'What makes you think Semyaza's a who?.'

'Am I wrong?'

Killian ignores him, and looks at me. 'Those two, they won't be the last to come looking for you. You need to get that crap offline.'

It takes me a few seconds to realise what he means.

'Are you talking about that horrible thing Emma wrote?' Mary Margaret says, and then quickly, 'Sorry, Em, you know what I mean.'

'That's exactly what I'm talking about,' Killian says.

'But it's a story.'

'With her name on it and where she's from. It won't stop them coming back, but there are worse things to worry about.'

Worse than the beating I took last night?

'I'm going now,' I say, not wanting to know what else I should be worrying about.

'Just give me a second to have a shower—'

I stand up too quickly and my head swims. 'I don't need you to babysit me.'

Killian doesn't move. 'Yeah, you did so well on your own last night.'

'He's right,' David says, wiping his hands on a tea towel. 'He brought them here, so he should protect you. The question is,' he says to Killian, 'is she safe with you?'

'You seem to be taking all of this in your stride, Dave.'

'Is that a no?'

'Of course she's safe with me.'

I've had enough of this pissing contest. I'm in pain, I don't know what's going on, and potentially there are more psychopaths headed my way, for reasons no one's explained.

'Come on, Mary Margaret. Let's go.'

I limp out the door, half-expecting Killian to try to stop me. Instead, I find myself out on the street with Mary Margaret and David. The air is fresh and clean, and the morning sun warm on my face. We walk home to our place and climb the stairs in silence. David's car is still parked outside. The brown cab looks too new next to all the old buildings on the street.

'Thanks for everything,' I say to him on the landing. I'm not sure if I mean for getting hurt, for sleeping on a couch, or for copping being called 'Dave' by Killian.

He glances away then back at me, hesitates, then says, 'Killian knows more than he's telling.'

'I know.'

'You need to find out what it is.'

Mary Margaret touches his arm. 'Do you want to come over later?'

'Do you mind? I don't like the idea of the two of you being alone after last night.'

She steps closer and puts a hand on his chest. 'As long as that's not the only reason you're coming over.'

'Hardly.' He leans in and kisses her gently on the cheek. Her hand goes to his neck, and they stay like that for just a moment. It's so tender, I have to look away.

We leave him on the landing and the sound of the car starts up a few minutes after we go inside. I head straight to the kitchen where my laptop is still on the bench.

'Coco?' Mary Margaret asks as I ease myself onto a stool.

'Absolutely.'

I send an email to Think Lovely Thoughts and ask for my story to be taken down from the site. The coco is ready by the time I'm done. We sip slowly, neither of us speaking. Finally, it gets too much for Mary Margaret.

'Show me your injuries.'

'What, you're a doctor now?'

'Seriously, Emma.'

I head to the bathroom and she follows. I prise off my shirt and examine myself under Mary Margaret's watchful eye. My ribs are bruised, and so is my back where Regina kicked me, but the bruises are yellow, like they're a few weeks old. Not black and purple like they should be.

'That's impossible,' she says at last. 'How did he do that?'

I sit down on the tub. 'I need to tell you something.'

'Anything. You know that.' She sits beside me, her hands tucked between her knees.

'Those dreams I told you about, and the story I wrote… That guy Charles. It's Killian.'

Mary Margaret frowns. 'I don't get it. You know him?'

'No. But I've been dreaming about him ever since the accident, and it's always in that nightclub fight.'

'That fight…with demons?'

I know if it wasn't for what she's seen in the last twelve hours, Mary Margaret would be slowly backing away from me about now.

'Yeah.'

I tell her Killian's version of my relationship with Liam.

'But that makes no sense at all.' She picks at her fingers. 'You'd know more about your brother than he would.'

'I know.' I shake my head. I can't think. 'I need air.'

I stand up and Mary Margaret gets between me and the door. 'Emma, you just about passed out coming home.'

'I'm fine. I need to clear my head so I can work this out.'

'I'll come with you.'

'No. I'll just go to the castle.'

'Emma, please. It's not safe.'

I put up a hand. 'I need space, Mary Margaret.'

'Oh.' She steps aside and finds a stray thread on her jumper to fiddle with. 'Of course.'

I don't want to hurt her feelings. I wish I knew what to say, how to explain that I work better on my own.

But I don't, so I walk away.

SINKING

The castle is on a small corner of the beach opposite the forest. In reality the castle is just a child's treehouse but made of sandy wood and looks like a castle. Kids used to play here but then someone hurt themselves and it was deemed unsafe, just as well really. Now it's my thinking spot. The elevated height from the rest of the world helps to clear my head. There are no trees or houses close by, no distractions just me and my thoughts.

There's a gentle breeze, and it carries a hint of the cooler weather rolling in off the water. The sky is foggy but the sun still pierces through the haze. I lean against a post of wood swinging my legs over the platform. The town sits in the distance. The clock tower stands tall, distinct from any point in town. Looking at it relaxes me. I've always felt safe up here. It's the closest I've felt to being grounded.

Something tells me Killian might not be lying about my life before the accident. There is something prickling at the edge of my memory. It's not just the photos on Killian's phone, or even what happened last night. It's that my memories of my life before Liam's death have never been clear or sharp. Any time I've tried to concentrate on a particular moment, the memory skitters away. It's like a speck in my eye: there at the edges, out of focus.

A residual effect of the crash, I thought—either because of the trauma or some brain injury the doctors never found. But now…

Now I have to go back to Killian and find out what he knows. Maybe, if it is the truth, this hollowness I carry around every day will ease.

'Hey.'

I turn so fast I almost fall off the platform. Behind me is a girl with dark brown hair crouching a little to avoid the beams of the castles room. We both watch each other for a moment both of looking surprised to see the other. Two days ago I didn't bat an eye at strangers, now I'm gripping the platform like it's the only thing keeping me from tumbling over the edge, splinters stinging my hand.

She's about my age, dressed in dark jeans, a t-shirt and denim jacket. Her face is pale but beautiful with brown eyes and long lashes. She studies me intently as she comes closer, looking down at me curiously.

'You okay?' she asks.

I nod. 'I didn't hear you coming.'

She's watching me closely. She smiles. 'Mind if I join you?'

I hesitate, and then nod. She leaves room between us when she sits down.

'Nice spot.'

I shrug, forcing myself to ease my death grip on the wood beneath my hand.

'Are you staying around here?' she asks.

I run my tongue across my teeth so my lips will work. 'Just passing through.'

'Good place for a break.' She looks out over the town and ocean. Her long hair is styled straight, reaching just past her shoulders and moves with the breeze. 'It's gorgeous here.' She twists her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. 'This is so weird.'

I stay completely still. How am I going to protect myself if she can fight like Regina?

'The view?'

'No, you having no idea who I am.'

I have zero chance of playing this cool.

'Or that you're so wary of me.' Her smile is sad. 'It's just…wrong.' She hasn't made any move to attack, but that could just be a trick. Robin started out friendly too. But this girl's so calm and relaxed, then again I've been proved to be a terrible judge of character.

'I heard what those two idiots tried to do last night. If I'd known you were really alive—'

'Did you know Liam?' I blurt.

She blinks, and then nods, slowly.

'Did he and I fall out?'

'Yeah. For about a decade.'

I stare at her. A decade?

'What has Killian told you?'

I don't answer. A decade? How is that possible?

She shakes her head. 'So, you don't know anything about yourself? Or the Rephaim?'

A decade?

'And you don't know what happened to you and Liam?'

She has my full attention again. 'Do you?'

'Nobody knows, Em, that's the point.' She pushes her hair back. 'You don't remember who you are, but you know an awful lot about what happened at the Rhythm Palace.'

'The what?'

'The nightclub blood-fest Milah's crew got into a few years back with a pack of hellions. Absolute debacle.'

I'm trying to digest this, but it's just too big.

'I know you weren't there, because you were with us in Morocco.'

The image of a decapitated monster flashes in my mind. 'It's all real?'

The brunette regards me. 'This is a freaking tragedy, Em.' She moves to sit in a cross legged position on bench gracefully, so she is facing me. 'Listen, I can't stay long. We're in lockdown, so someone's going to notice I'm gone, but I had to come and see you for myself.'

'Why?'

She blinks. 'Because you're my friend.'

'I don't remember you.'

'You will. I don't know who's done this to you, but we'll find a way to fix it.'

Who says I need fixing?

I rip a splinter from the bench. 'What's your name?'

'Lily.' She smiles. She's got tiny dimples. She laces her fingers together and turns them inside out, stretching her arms. 'You need to keep your head down. Rumplestiltskin will send others, and god help us when Graham gets back and finds out.'

Who are Rumplestiltskin and Graham? I don't get a chance to voice the question.

'Has Killian called for back-up?'

'Not that I've seen.'

'Oh, you'd see those posers if they were around. So, he's still on his own? That's interesting.'

She ties her hair up in a side ponytail. I close my eyes maybe if I ignore the world around me, her words will make more sense.

'I don't know what Killian's game is,' Lily continues, 'but you're safe enough with him for the moment. He can be a dick, but he'll look after you—for Liam's sake if nothing else.' She climbs to her feet. 'And tell him to get some balls and explain the facts of life to you.' A smile, wider this time. 'I wish I could be there for that conversation.'

'Why don't you just tell me?'

'Trust me, you'll have a mountain of questions, and I have to get back. Plus, it won't kill Killian to do something useful for a change.'

I manage a small laugh. 'He seems to enjoy watching me stumble around in the dark.'

'I bet he does. But the longer he screws with you, the more trouble he's going to be in when you get your memory back—and he knows it.'

A gust of wind blows my hair across my face and I push it back without taking my eyes off her.

'Listen,' Lily says. 'Give me a few days, and I'll come back. We'll work this out.' She pulls a piece of paper from her jeans and holds it out to me. 'Don't lose this.'

'What is it?'

'My number.' She pauses a moment. 'God, Em, it's so good to see you.' She smiles at me one last time and jumps off the platform, hurtling toward the earth.


	8. Chapter 8

STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED…RIGHT?

I scramble to peer of the side of the castle down at the sand where Lily should be. Jumping from this height is dangerous, deadly even. But that's the problem there's no sign of Lily below. The sand is clear. For miles there's nothing but a vast landscape of sand.

'What the…?' I don't even bother finishing the question. It's too ridiculous. About as ridiculous as the idea hellions exist and people fight them with swords. In nightclubs.

I carefully climb down the allocated wooden stairs and look around. Not a sole in sight. Maybe I'm losing my mind. I walk back towards the house. I don't want to be out here alone anymore.

Mary Margaret is at the kitchen bench, hunched over my laptop. 'That was quick,' she says, barely raising her head. When I don't answer, she takes a longer look. Her fingers stop moving on the keyboard. 'Are you okay?'

'I met this girl. Lily. One of them.'

I tell her what happened but not what Lily said about Liam, only that she knew him. I write down the names she said: Rumplestiltskin, Graham, and something about Milah.

'She really jumped off the castle?'

I hesitate. 'Yeah.'

Mary Margaret bites her lip, shakes her head, and goes back to typing. I can usually read her, but I've got no idea what she's thinking right now.

'What are you doing?' I ask.

'Research. What was the name that girl said last night?' She closes her eyes in concentration. 'Samyarzi?'

I get goosebumps down my arms, even though the room is warm. I remember it clearly: 'Semyaza.'

She types and clicks a few times. 'Check this out.'

I pull up a stool. 'Wikipedia? Really?'

'Just read it.'

She points to a section titled 'Sins of Semyaza and his associates'.

In the Book of Enoch he is portrayed as the leader of a band of angels called the Watchers, who are consumed with lust for mortal women and become Fallen Angels.

And Semjâzâ, who was their leader, said unto them: 'I fear ye will not indeed agree to do this deed, and I alone shall have to pay the penalty of a greatsin.'And they all answered him and said: 'Let us all swear an oath, and all bind ourselves by mutual imprecations not to abandon this plan but to do this thing.'

I take the mouse and scroll back up to click on 'Watchers'. Another page appears.

The Watchers, or Grigori, are a group of fallen angels told of in Biblical apocrypha who mated with human females, giving rise to a race of hybrids known as the Nephilim… According to the Book of Enoch, the Watchers numbered a total of 200 but only their leaders are named.

'That can't be what she meant,' Mary Margaret says. 'Maybe we misspelled it.'

'Or it's someone else with the same name.'

'Or we heard it wrong.'

I click on 'Nephilim'. A new page appears. This one says that the hybrids were wiped out by a flood. I keep reading. I'm not sure what I'm looking for until a highlighted word jumps off the screen.

Rephaim.

It's something Lily said: So, you don't know anything about yourself? Or the Rephaim…

It's not how I would have spelled it, but here it is, on a page detailing the story of fallen angels and their offspring.

'What?' Mary Margaret says.

'Rephaim.'

She frowns as she reads it. 'This says they were a race of giants in early biblical times, maybe descended from the Nephilim. I'm confused.'

'You're confused?' I rub the scar on my neck, wait for the pieces to fall into place. They don't. 'Have you got a bible?'

Mary Margaret blinks. 'No.'

'You're still Catholic, aren't you?'

'About three times a year.'

'Do you remember a Book of Enoch?'

She frowns. 'Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus…' She counts them off on her fingers. 'I can't remember what comes next. There could be an Enoch in there somewhere.'

'Who do we know who would have one, a bible I mean?'

She breaks into a knowing smile. 'How about the library?'

'You're a genius.' I climb off the stool.

'Come on, we're not going now. It's Sunday. Let's just google it.'

I grab my membership card off the bench.

'Emma, you're exhausted. And you need a shower.'

I smell my shirt. 'Yeah, fair call. Back in a minute.'

I'm wrestling my damp hair into a ponytail when I come back into the kitchen, still trying to figure out how a myth about fallen angels relates to me.

'Hey, do you think—'

I stop. David is at the bench, reading over Mary Margaret's shoulder. So close they're almost touching.

'You're back early.'

'I called him,' Mary Margaret says, before he can respond. 'You shouldn't be over doing yourself, and you shouldn't be alone in case you get another visitor.'

'You told him about Lily?'

She nods, measuring my mood. 'All of it.'

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 'I'll be fine. Don't waste your day.'

'It's no trouble,' David says.

'Then just drop me off.'

'It'll be quicker with three of us.'

'Plus,' Mary Margaret adds, 'we want to know what's going on as much as you do.'

I seriously doubt that.

I weigh up what I need more right now: efficiency or privacy. Killian said more people would come for me. Efficiency wins out.

In the reference section it smells musty and unused. I grab the first bible I come to, the New King James, and run my finger down the names of the books listed under the Old and New Testaments.

'There's no Book of Enoch.'

David is further along the stack. 'Try the apocrypha.'

'The what?' I slide the bible back onto the shelf.

'Books written by prophets and other people, not kept as official Jewish or Christian texts.' He grabs a hardback, checks the contents and then turns the open page to me. 'See, Book of Enoch.'

'How do you know this stuff?'

'I studied religion for a year.'

'You did not.'

He flicks through the pages, head down. 'I got mixed messages about religion when I was younger. I wanted to find out a few things for myself. A year was enough. It's not like I went into the seminary.' He gives Mary Margaret a quick smile. 'It was just a couple of subjects at uni.'

Mary Margaret is sitting on one of the tables, swinging her legs. 'I think it's sexy.'

'Wow,' I say. 'Religion as foreplay.'

They both blush.

'Anyway…' I gesture to the book.

David skims the page. 'This says the Book of Enoch is an ancient Jewish text. Enoch may have been Noah's great-grandfather… The Ethiopian Orthodox Church is the only church that includes it in its official canon.' He flicks through the pages. 'Here.' He hands the book to me, pointing to where I should start.

I read aloud:

And the Lord said unto Merlin: 'Go, bind Semjâzâ and his associates who have united themselves with women so as to have defiled themselves with them in all their uncleanness. And when their sons have slain one another, and they have seen the destruction of their beloved ones, bind them fast for seventy generations in the valleys of the earth, till the day of their judgment and of their consummation, till the judgment that is for ever and ever is consummated. In those days they shall be led off to the abyss of fire: (and) to the torment and the prison in which they shall be confined for ever.'

I toss the book on the table next to Mary Margaret. 'Noah's great-grandfather wrote that? Seriously?'

Mary Margaret clicks her fingernails on the table. 'Noah, as in Noah's Ark?' She frowns. 'Wasn't there something about Nephilim and a flood in that stuff we read online?'

'Yeah. Some theory about God sending the flood to kill them as well as the wicked.'

'Who is Merlin?'

'My guess—the archangel,' David says.

'What's an archangel?' I ask.

'From memory'—David squints in concentration— 'they're part of the upper echelon of heaven. I think Merlin was the most important.'

Mary Margaret's forehead creases. 'Do you think this is all real, about the fallen angels?'

He picks up the book, rubs his thumb on a corner. 'I think there's more to the world than what we can see.'

'But they're just stories. Aren't they?'

'Most stories are based on something real.'

I go over to the window. A young couple are walking past sharing an ice-cream between them. Two young girls skip along on the other side of the pavement fits of laughter erupting between them.

'But what's any of that got to do with me?'

'I have no idea,' Mary Margaret says.

I go back to her and David, tapping my finger along the reference shelf. I can work this out. I just have to get my head around it.

'All right. Let's pretend I have this whole other life I know nothing about. And that angels really were kicked out of heaven because they couldn't keep it in their pants. Why would I be looking for their leader if he and the rest of them are in hell?'

'That story is a couple of thousand years old,' David says. 'Older even. Maybe that wasn't the end of it.'

'Do you seriously think a story about fallen angels has something to do with me?'

David shrugs. 'Hard to say. But we all know who can shed some light.'

All roads lead to Killian. There's no getting around it.

TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

His house is a couple blocks away. A little white weatherboard with a tin roof next to a sardine factory not far from the docks. Boats drift in the background. This house was once probably a much loved home to a keen fisherman. Now it's constantly up for lease. A wire fence surrounds the property and a garden path snakes up to the front door. There's an apple tree in the garden, looming over a circular table with rusty deck chairs clustered around it.

The front door opens before we're out of the car. Killian has changed since this morning. He's no longer wearing a vest on top of his shirt, though his dark chest hair still peaks out. His leather pants are gone, replaced by black jeans and his feet are without shoes. He's still wearing, or reapplied the eyeliner, guy liner, under his eyes. He leans against the doorframe and watches us approach.

'I had another visitor,' I say, stopping whatever smartarse comment he was about to make.

He stands up straight. 'At your place?'

'No,' Mary Margaret says, and brushes past him. 'She went for a walk.'

'Bloody hell, Swan. Some things never change. When are you going to listen?'

'I'm in one piece, aren't I?'

He checks me over and then steps aside so David and I can go in.

'Who was it?' He follows us into the kitchen. He's been busy since we left: our breakfast dishes are washed and drying on the rack and the place smells of disinfectant.

'She said her name was Lily.'

'Pale, long dark brown hair?

I nod.

'Was she armed?'

'No. She said she just wanted see me.'

Mary Margaret, David and I sit at the table, all of us where we sat this morning, and Mary Margaret begins tracing the scratch in the table again.

Killian leans against the sink. 'What else did she say?'

'That you're a dick.'

'She's called me worse. Anything else?'

'That you'd take care of me.'

His eyebrows go up. 'A vote of confidence from her. That must have hurt.'

'She also said you needed to grow a set and tell me the truth— that it was about time you did something useful.'

His lips twitch but he doesn't smile. 'Did she ask you to go back with her?'

I shake my head. 'She asked if you had back-up.'

'What did you say?'

'Not that I was aware of.'

He pushes off from the sink. 'What did you do that for?'

'Ah…because I didn't know not to?'

'If she tells Rumple I'm here alone, he'll send another pack of dogs after you.'

Mary Margaret's hand stops moving.

'She won't.'

'What, you remember Lily? You know her?'

'No, but I don't think that's why she asked.'

He runs a hand through his short hair and it sticks up. 'We have to go. You need to be long gone before they come. I can't hold them off on my own.'

'No.'

He leans on the table across from me, blocking any light from the window. 'Swan, for once in your life would you just do what you're told.'

'Not until you tell me what connection I have to a mythical gang of fallen angels.'

He falters. 'What did Lily tell you?'

'Nothing!' My voice is too loud in the small kitchen. ' And I'm sick of everyone keeping me in the dark.'

David is watching Killian intently.

Killian stands back from the table, looks at the wall behind us and then stretches his neck until there's a cracking sound. 'Fine. But you might want to have this conversation in private.'

I shake my head.

'Swan…'

I cross my arms and wait.

'If I tell you this, will you come with me?'

'Probably not.'

He breathes out heavily and moves back against the sink. 'Where do I start…?'

'How about with Semyaza?'

'We know he was the leader of the fallen angels,' David breaks in, 'and that they were all sent to hell.'

Killian cracks a knuckle. 'Pity they didn't stay there.'

David seems surprised by the answer, even though his instincts were right.

'They broke out about a hundred and forty years ago,' Killian says. 'Nobody knows how they did it. They spent forty-eight hours on earth, amusing themselves with willing virgins, and then disappeared off the face of the planet. Popular theory is they're hiding out somewhere. Or trapped.'

'Hold on a minute,' Mary Margaret says. 'They were originally sent to hell because they hooked up with human women, and then as soon as they saw the light of day, they did the same thing again?'

'Guess they were slow learners.'

David's chair creaks as he shifts position. 'What makes you think they weren't caught and dragged back to hell?'

'Because the demons are still looking for them,' Killian says.

'The demons?' Mary Margaret swallows. 'God, you're serious, aren't you? You really believe this stuff?'

Killian ignores her.

I dig my fingers into my arms. 'And where do Liam and I fit into this?'

'Like I told you, we're all part of an association.'

'The Rephaim?' The word brings a flutter to my chest. 'Lily mentioned it,' I say, before he can ask.

'Yeah,' Killian says slowly. 'We hunt for Semyaza and the two hundred.'

'Why?'

He looks at me like I've just asked why he's wearing pants. 'What else are we going to do?'

'But, you said…' I'm trying to remember our conversation in his room.

Killian shrugs. 'There's a difference of opinion about what we should do if we find the Fallen.'

'What's that got to do with—'

'The story doing the rounds is that you and Liam disappeared because you'd found them, and it cost you both your heads.' He pauses. 'So, you see, now that you're back from the dead, everyone's going to be more than a little curious about what happened. Your crew, our crew, the demons…'

'But I don't know anything.'

'And I'm sure if you politely explain that to the hellspawn, they'll just leave you alone.'

Lily wasn't kidding about the questions I'd have.

'So, Regina and the other one, Robin, last night…they're on my side?'

Killian scoffs. 'No, you were on theirs. When you and Liam took off, your crew thought you'd joined us. And ours thought Liam had joined you. Everyone's been a little twitchy ever since. You reappearing like this…Let's just say there'll be a frenzy going on at the Sanctuary right now.'

The only noise in the kitchen is the slow drip from the tap over the sink. Mary Margaret's attention has drifted to the window. Her face is pale, eyes distant. I rub my temples.

'Swan,' Killian says. 'Emma.' He waits until I'm looking at him again. 'Demons exist. The hell-spawn you wrote about, they're real. And sooner or later all this chatter about you being alive is going to reach their deformed ears and they'll come for you. I can't protect you here.'

It's hard for me to argue with him when I have no idea what he's talking about. That doesn't mean I'm not going to try. 'But why do I care about fallen angels? And who the hell are the Rephaim?'

Killian glances at David and Mary Margaret. I'm not sure she's even listening, but David is hanging on every word.

'Just spit it out,' I say.

'Those forty-eight hours the Fallen spent on earth, they got busy. They seduced about a thousand women between them.' He waits, as if that should mean something to me. It doesn't so he continues. 'More than a few of them fell pregnant. To the Fallen.'

'But what does that have to do with me or Liam, or these crews you keep talking about?'

The corners of Killian's lips turn up just a little. He's enjoying this.

'Because, Emma Swan, we're the result. We're the offspring of the Fallen.'


	9. Chapter 9

AND EVERYTHING KEEPS SPINNING

'You are such a prick.'

'What?' he says, laughing. 'You wanted to know.'

I shove my chair back from the table and walk out of the house. When will I learn? Every time I start to trust him, he makes me the punchline of a joke. I expect Mary Margaret and David to follow, but I'm out the gate now, and I'm alone. Disappointment flares. I push it away.

It's only anger that gets me back home.

I throw our front door open so hard it slams into the wall and the wood shudders dangerously. I walk in to my bedroom, ready to slam another door, or throw something just to hear it break, but I don't get the chance. Killian is standing on the other side of my bed.

'How…?'

He's not even sweating.

'Enough,' he says.

That's not possible. How did he get here?

'You've got to get past this shit,' he says, his hands resting lightly on his hips.

I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. 'You just told me I'm descended from fallen angels. How did you think I'd take it?'

'Now you understand why Lily was too gutless to tell you.'

I glare at him.

'Look, I can show you. But you have to come with me, now.'

I look longingly at my bed. The sun streaming on the multicolored quilt. Maybe everything will make sense after some more sleep.

'The other two don't know I'm gone yet. As soon as they figure it out, they'll come straight here.' He moves around the bed and stands in front me. Rum, a hint of the sea. 'You don't need them for this.'

For once, his blue eyes are completely serious.

'I don't trust you.'

'I know.' His hands come up to my arms. They're warm, even though the morning is crisp. A shiver runs through me. 'Come on. It won't take long.'

I can't look away. 'Where?'

'You'll see.'

'And we'll come straight back?'

He sighs. 'I'd rather not, but for what it's worth, I'll bring you back here if that's what you want.'

I'm so tired, I don't know what to do. Nothing in my bedroom brings me comfort. None of it is mine. A bright shawl of Mary Margaret's hanging over an old armchair her mum gave me. A beat-up wardrobe from the market, with matching bedside table, piled with odd bits and ends. Faded curtains from the op shop. Nothing of Liam's either. What was left of our lives was destroyed in the accident. Nothing in my life is clear. That needs to change.

'Okay.'

His shoulders relax. 'Thank you.'

He gently pulls me to him. My body responds before my mind does, and I wrap my arms around him. He murmurs in surprise and draws me closer. I mould myself against him, not caring about anything except the promise he might kiss me again. I can't help it when he's this close. He breathes in, and the air around us turns wintry. The floor drops out beneath me. We're moving. Fast. I try to lift my head but there's a hurricane pressing down. I can't move. I can't even open my eyes. It's terrifying… and exhilarating.

It lasts only a couple of seconds, and then the ground is solid under my feet again. I catch my breath and try to lift my head, but everything around me is still spinning. Wherever we are, it's dark. And cold. Killian is still holding me tight.

'Don't freak out.'

'What did you do?' I whisper. My pulse is still skittery.

He prises my arms from his waist. 'Give me a second to light the fire.'

My eyes adjust to the light and I track his silhouette towards a wall. We're in a house, I think. It smells stale. I shuffle towards the window, checking for hazards on the stone floor. I look out, and forget to breathe.

It's night here. We're on a hill, and there are town lights speckled below. It's not Storybrooke.

A match strikes, and I jump. Killian puts the flame to a stack of scrunched-up newspaper and kindling in the fireplace. It catches. He walks off into the darkness.

I am not going to panic. I am not going to panic.

Killian comes back carrying blankets. He moves as if to wrap one around me, but I duck away from him.

'Where the fuck are we?' I'm surprised by how steady my voice is. Everything else is shaky.

He drops the blankets on the floor. 'Your mood swings are starting to wear a little thin.'

'You want me to apologise?'

'I want you to stop acting like a teenager.'

I back away from him. 'I am a teenager!'

'No, you're not. You're a hundred and thirty-nine years old.'

I stumble backwards, feel rough fabric against the back of my legs, lose my balance and sprawl onto something wide and hard. A couch. It smells as musty as the room.

He kicks a blanket over to me. 'Put that around your shoulders.'

I want to defy him, but it's bloody cold in here, so I wrap myself in it.

'This is where Liam and I used to come when we'd had enough of all the bullshit.'

Liam was here…My fingers are still trembling. I hide them in the blanket. 'It smells,' I say.

He cricks his neck. 'Yeah, well, housekeeping hasn't been a priority lately.'

'Why am I here?'

'Some of Liam's stuff is still in his room. I thought if you saw it, you might accept I'm not a complete liar.'

'How can I see anything? It's dark.'

'It won't be forever.'

He adds fuel to the fire. It's cracking and popping, and starting to throw out serious heat.

I still resent the accusation that I've been the unreasonable one. 'I thought you were going to drive wherever we were going.'

His face dances with shadows from the bright flames. 'Even after you found me in your room?'

I don't answer.

'So, what, you thought I just wanted a hug?'

And yet again, I feel like a fool.

'I'm not complaining,' he says. 'I'm still getting used to the idea you don't want to punch me every time you see me.'

'I wouldn't go that far.'

He gives a short laugh and picks up the other blanket. 'Move over.'

I do.

I have a thousand questions. 'Tell me about the Rephaim.'

He rubs his eyes. 'In a minute. You thirsty? There'll be something to drink here somewhere.'

I almost ask where here is, and decide I don't want to know just yet. One surprise at a time. 'Like what?'

Killian rattles around in a cupboard behind the couch and comes back with a bottle of water and two glasses. He fills the glasses and hands one to me. I hold it for a few seconds, surprised how cold it is.

'It's just water,' he says, misreading my hesitation. 'If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it that first day in the forest.'

My breath catches. 'That was you?'

He lifts his glass to his lips.

'Killian.'

He seems startled to hear me say his name.

'Yeah, that was me. I was about to get closer when you started crying. It kind of threw me. And then you ran…It made me curious. So I did a bit more reconnaissance, and figured my best option was to come at you again when there was safety in numbers.'

'The bar.'

'Yeah.' He smiles. 'Not at all what I expected.'

I feel my skin heat up, and take a sip of water.

'Okay,' Killian says, stretching his free arm along the back of the couch. 'The history of the Fallen and their bastard children.' He lifts his glass as if to make a toast. 'So, the Fallen break out of hell, roam the globe for two days, and leave behind a couple of hundred pregnant women. Except not all of the Fallen disappear. Rumplestiltskin got left behind.'

The guy Lily mentioned.

'Why?'

'The way he tells it, he didn't want to repeat the sin that landed him in hell in the first place, so he abstained in the hope of scoring points with the archangels.'

'You know him?'

Killian laughs without humour. 'He's the one who brought us all together and called us the Rephaim.'

'Why not just call you the Nephilim, like the others?'

'The Nephilim have such a bad name. Rumple didn't want God doing anything drastic to wipe us out—you know, like a global flood—so he called us after a dead race, and tried to convince the angelic host we're not a threat to mankind.'

'The who?'

'Angelic host. Host of Heaven. You know, the rest of the angels.'

'Oh.' I pick at the label on the water bottle. 'How did this Rumplestiltskin find everyone?'

'He spent a few years looking for us.'

'But how did he know which babies belonged to the Fallen?'

Killian puts his back to me. 'Look under my hair.'

I lean over. 'There's nothing there.'

'Touch it.'

I run my thumb over the skin near the base of his skull. There's a rough area there, like an old burn. 'What is that?'

'The mark of the Rephaim. It's a crescent moon. We all got branded during conception.'

I'm still stroking his skin with my thumb. I stop. He turns around and I slip back to my corner of the couch. 'So I should have one?'

'You did. Right where your scar is.'

I reach up under my hair. 'Convenient.'

'The only way we can be killed is decapitation, and the blow has to sever the mark. It makes perfect sense that someone wanting to kill you would try to take your head.'

I think of Liam. And his missing head. I can't deal with that yet.

'Rumplestiltskin found all of them?'

Killian glances out at the sky beyond the window. A lone cloud blots out the moon. 'There are a hundred and eighty-two of us that we know of. A chance, maybe, that there are more half-angel bastards out there, keeping their heads down, doing their own thing. Rumple found the majority of us in those first few years and took care of—'

'Hang on. What about their mothers?'

'All died in childbirth.'

'All of them?'

'Yep.' He swirls the water in his glass like it's expensive rum.

A log on the fire ignites. I watch the flames caress it until it's completely engulfed.

'What does it mean to be…like you?'

Killian stretches his legs out. 'We're stronger and faster than humans. And we can shift. That's how we got here. It's one of the gifts we've inherited from our fathers—the ability to shift from one place to another in the blink of an eye.'

That's impossible. Even if I have just changed time zones without boarding a plane.

'And we're immortal—unless we lose our heads, of course.'

I clutch my glass to my chest. He's messing with me again. Right? 'Shouldn't you be old and wrinkled if you're a hundred and thirty-nine?'

'We all stayed whatever age we were the first time we shifted. For most of us, it was late teens. There are a couple of exceptions—'

'Is that what you did after I got the crap kicked out of me last night? Shifted?'

'When we shift, we can exchange energy. You were hurt. I helped you heal quicker. It's why we usually travel in pairs.'

My fingers stray to my ribs. 'Where did you take me?'

'Here. Just for a second. The place wasn't important, just that we shifted. Mary Margaret was hammering on the door, so I didn't have long.'

'That's why you were so wrecked this morning?'

He nods.

'So why haven't you shifted us before now if you're so keen to get me out of

Storybrooke?'

'Force you to leave?' He yawns. 'That only works on humans. A Rephaite must consent—unless we're unconscious or incapacitated. That's why Regina ambushed you. You were with me, so she figured she'd have to knock you out before she could take you with them.'

'Take me where?'

'To the mothership.'

I pause. 'What?'

He laughs. 'God, this is too easy. To the Sanctuary. Rephaim HQ. It's an old monastery in the Italian mountains. Not a spaceship.'

'I knew that.'

'No, you didn't.' He grins. 'Your head hurt yet?'

'Like it's going to explode.'

He puts his glass down. 'Let's get some sleep. I'll show you Liam's room when the sun's up.'

'What about Mary Margaret? She'll be worried.'

'No, she won't. You get snarky, you disappear. Don't tell me she hasn't seen that before.'

I straighten the blanket around my shoulders. That was just a good guess—he can't know me that well.

'Your turn for the fire.' Killian gestures towards the wood pile beside the hearth.

I use a log to flatten the coals and then toss it on. Sparks shower up the chimney. When I turn back to the couch, Killian has stretched out, filling its entire length. He's got one blanket around him and the other in front of him spread out. He pats it.

'Don't you have a bed?'

'Sure, but the fire's in here.' He gives me that slow smile.

I take a breath. I am not making a fool of myself again.

He watches me wrestle with his offer. 'I may have the hormones of an eighteen-year-old, but I can control myself. Unless you don't want me to.'

'What I want,' I say, walking over to him, 'is a night where you don't harass me in my sleep.' The best form of defence is attack, right?

I lie down on the couch and pull my blanket around me, careful not to touch him. Killian has positioned a cushion as a pillow and I jerk it forward so there's enough for me.

'Doesn't sound like me.' His mouth is close to my ear. 'I prefer my women awake when I harass them.'

'No, smartarse, you keep showing up in my dreams. And not those sort of dreams either. The kind where you're cutting the heads off hellions.'

He's quiet for a few seconds. 'Is that how you know about the Rhythm Palace? You dreamed it?'

'Yep.'

'That story, it's like it was Liam's version of what happened. We got there late and came in through the back door, just like you wrote, and we helped turn the tide in the fight. But you didn't write it like he would have.'

'In what way?'

'Well, for starters, he would have called them hellturds, not hellions. And, secondly, he wouldn't have noticed my dashing good looks.'

I close my eyes. There's just no way I can throw this guy off balance.

'And that website—Think Lovely Thoughts—how did you know it existed?'

'I don't know. I must have heard about it somewhere.'

He moves around behind me, getting comfortable. 'I figured Liam must have told you about it. He's the only person who knows I read that stuff.'

'If you fight real demons, why would you want to read made-up stories about them?'

'Some of it's hilarious. And not all of it's made up.'

I pull the blanket tighter around me. It's the middle of the day at home, but I'm tired enough to sleep.

'You still having those dreams?'

'Not since you showed up at the bar.'

We're quiet for a moment. And then: 'Why did you call me Charles?'

'It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now that I know you, I realise I should have called that character Dick.'

He laughs, and the couch shakes. 'Honestly, Swan, I forgot you could be this much fun.'


	10. Chapter 10

FILL ME WITH EMPTINESS

Church bells wake me. Loud, clanging bells that sound like they're inside my head. I don't even have the brief luxury of disorientation. I know exactly where I am. Well, sort of.

Killian's arm is draped over me, his body pressed against mine. There's no way he can be sleeping through this noise, but he's giving no signs of being awake. Maybe he's pretending to sleep so he can keep holding me. But that kind of thinking will only lead to me feeling stupid again. Killian's got his own game going on here. If I had more experience with men, I could work it against him. But no matter what he says, I'm only eighteen. And while I've come close, I've never actually been with a guy. Before the accident, there were plenty of close encounters, but afterwards, I didn't want anyone to touch me. And then along comes Killian…But if what he says is true, and I'm a hundred and thirty-nine years old, then clearly I'm not a virgin.

I've only been awake a few minutes and I've managed to tie my brain in a knot again.

The bells finally stop. Behind me, Killian stirs and draws me closer.

'Morning, Swan,' he says, his voice still heavy with sleep.

'Where are we?'

'Same place we were a few hours ago.' He nuzzles the back of my neck.

I push his arm away and sit up.

'Hey.' He grabs me. 'Come back here and keep me warm.'

His grip is light, so I slap his hand away and stand up. The room might be musty, but it's a vast improvement on Killian's place back in Storybrooke. The walls are white and clean, and the couch looks antique-expensive. No wonder it was so uncomfortable. Above the fireplace is a school of fish made from beaten copper, each stuck to the wall individually, and there's an ornate silver plate propped up on the mantelpiece. The fire is down to a few flickering coals. I throw more wood on, and go to the window.

.

I stand there for a good five minutes, taking in the view. It's a town of whitewashed buildings with flat roofs. Beyond the houses, the sea stretches out in all directions. Is that a cruise ship in the distance? I press my face against the cold glass. Down the road is a church with a white dome and arches hung with bells.

'Worked it out yet?' Killian is behind me.

My breath fogs the window. 'We're in Greece somewhere, aren't we?'

'Patmos.'

I turn. He's still got his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his hair's mussed and his eyes dark. For a second, I wish I was back lying next to him on the couch.

'It was Liam's idea to get a place here. He liked the irony.'

Patmos. The name is familiar. 'The Apostle John was exiled here.' Strange I can remember that, but not that I'm descended from fallen angels.

'Back in the days before the place was crowded with tourists and cruise ships.'

I run my fingers through my hair. 'I don't suppose there's a brush here somewhere?'

Killian nods in the direction of the hallway. 'Second door on the left is Liam's room. There are a few things in there. Help yourself.'

The door is plain timber. It's not latched. All I have to do is nudge it. On the other side is a room that supposedly belonged to Liam. A room I never knew existed—in a house my brother shared with a man I don't remember. My stomach twists. I don't know what's unsettling me more: the idea I might discover something new about Liam, or the fear I won't.

'You need a hand there?' Killian asks, watching me from the window.

I ignore him and push open the door.

Inside, there's a bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, all made from dark, heavy timber. Out the window is a hill dotted with fruit trees. The bed has been stripped of its blanket, but the rest of the room is neat. I pick up a pillow and inhale deeply. Is there a hint of Liam there, or is that just wishful thinking?

The bookcase is crammed with paperbacks and hardback books. I run my finger over the spines. Two whole shelves are dedicated to books about angels and demons. Volumes on Judaeo-Christian and Islamic theology, and a brightly illustrated tome on Hindu teachings. Essays on the concept of the human soul. I count ten bibles and six volumes of apocryphal writings. Copies of the Talmud and the Koran. In Hebrew and Arabic. I pull a few out and flip through them. One after the other is peppered with underlining and handwritten notes. Liam's cursive handwriting.

There's also a smattering of crime novels by various writers in English, Italian and German, and what might possibly be the oldest looking copy of the brother Grimm fairy tales. Cracked, leather-bound covers.

I open the wardrobe, expecting to find clothes. Instead, I find swords and knives. Dozens of deadly weapons of all shapes and sizes. The shelves have been removed and the weapons hang on hooks on the sides and back of the wardrobe. It's a mass murderer's tool shed. I close the doors and stand there for a few seconds, just breathing.

I go to the drawers, almost afraid to open them. I start with the bottom one. A few stray socks and a pair of combat boots. Of course the boots are in a drawer—it's not like you'd put them in your weapons cupboard.

I open the second drawer: t-shirts and light-knit jumpers. I recognise a few of them from our backpacking days…or at least my memories of those days. Below that, jeans and trackpants, all folded with military precision.

Finally, I open the top drawer. Socks and underwear are messily cramped I'm. Unordered. It doesn't feel right. Liam was always tidy, not like this. This seems rushed. Not the precise, 'everything in it's place' style I remember.

I rummage through his things, not sure what I'm looking for. And then my fingers touch the edge of something under a pair of woollen socks. I pull it out, and it takes me several long moments to accept what I'm seeing.

It's a photograph of Liam, smiling, with his arm slung over a young woman's shoulder. She has short blonde hair, hanging just above her shoulders, and she's laughing. They're in front of the Blue Mosque. They're both wearing clothes that haven't been in fashion for at least two decades. The photo itself has seen better days—it's slightly discoloured, and folded at the edges. I feel like I'm being dragged through the air by Killian again.

The woman in the photo is me.

I carry it over to the bed and sit down. I can't take my eyes off that impossible image. It's only when the tears come that it blurs out of focus.

It's too much.

All of it.

More tears fall, and I don't have the strength to stop them. I don't care anymore. Liam is gone. And the brother I'm mourning is a lie. A memory someone else has given me. I have a whole other lifetime with him I don't remember.

I ball my hand into a fist, pull the bed sheet free from its neat hospital corner. Grief wraps itself around me. I can barely draw breath. My throat burns and tears spatter onto the crisp linen. I sob and shudder, and make a low noise like a wounded animal.

After a while, a weight settles next to me on the bed. Killian tilts the picture in my hand so he can see it, but he doesn't try to take it from me.

My face is hot and wet and my whole body aches. I stare up at him, empty. Lost.

'Swan…' His voice catches.

I wait for him to lob another grenade but, for once, he's got nothing to say. He scoops me up and carries me back out to the couch. He sits me across his lap, and draws me to his chest, dragging the blanket around my shoulders. His hand makes slow circles between my shoulder blades.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers. 'I didn't think it would be like this.'

'Did he hate me?' It's hard to form the words.

'Of course he didn't.' Killian's voice is sharp. 'You were both as stubborn as each other, that's all. You were so pissed at him for leaving the Sanctuary, and he was so pissed at you because you wouldn't listen to him.' His hand comes to rest on the small of my back. 'He grabbed that photo when we left the Sanctuary. It's one of the few things that ever meant anything to him.'

I wipe my cheeks with my thumb. 'Why do you care what happens to me? Is finding Semyaza that important?'

Killian looks at me. All his usual attitude has fallen away. 'I couldn't give a shit about Semyaza anymore, or any of the Fallen. But Liam's the one person I've been able to trust in the last century and I want to know what happened to him.'

I take a ragged breath, and he pauses to brush a stray hair out of my eyes.

'And…?' I ask.

His fingers linger on my face.

'You shouldn't be alive, Swan, but you are.' He swallows, and it seems to take an effort to get his next words out. 'And I can't help but wonder if you're not the only one who survived.'

IN THE DARK, I OPEN MY EYES

I stare at him with sore eyes. 'Is that possible?'

The idea is so huge, so shattering, I can hardly bear to think about it.

'It makes as much sense as you being here,' he says. Liam may be alive somewhere.

All this time I've been lounging around Storybrooke and Liam may be alive.

My breath comes quickly. Too quickly. Black spots explode in my vision.

'Hey, hey,' Killian says. 'Settle down. Take a deep breath.'

I do, and it catches half a dozen times on the way in. I let it out and take another. And another. Eventually my pulse settles.

'The thought never crossed your mind?' Killian asks. He hasn't let me go.

'But what I saw? The way he died?'

'A lie, like everything else you remember.'

What if there really was no accident? No screeching tyres and hot metal. No crushed windscreen and shattered glass. No smell of blood and fuel. My mind is doing laps and I have to get moving so I can keep up. I get up— Killian makes no attempt to pull me back—gently slide the photo into my pocket, and start to pace. It's a short track I make back and forth, between the fireplace and the window.

'If there's even the faintest chance he's alive, we have to look for him,' I say.

'I know.'

I stop in front of him. 'You came looking for me because you thought I knew what happened.'

'I still think you do. You just don't remember.'

'What do we do then?' I'm ready to go anywhere with him, do anything. Everything I've tried to absorb in the last few hours is nothing compared to this possibility.

Killian can't hold my gaze. He's looking at the rectangles of sunlight across the stone floor.

'You have no idea, do you?'

'I need to know what the two of you were doing. If we can figure that out, we'll at least have a starting point.'

The buzzing in my chest fades. 'I need that other life back.'

'Agreed.' Killian looks up. 'Of course, if you remember who you are, you're just as likely to kneecap me and go off on your own.'

It's so weird to hear him speak about this other person. This other me. 'Am I different now?'

A half-smile. 'Yeah, and it's a big improvement.'

I chew my lip. He knows I want more, but he still takes his time.

'You're still you, trust me,' he says, finally. 'Just without the baggage.' He pauses. 'Make that different baggage. And with only two decades' worth instead of a century and a half.'

'But if my memory of Liam isn't real, does that mean the way I feel about him isn't either? Or how I think he feels about me?' My lungs constrict. I shouldn't have said that out loud.

Killian rubs his jaw with the back of his fingers. 'No. I think the feelings are real—it's just the details that have been screwed with. You two have always been tight.'

'Except for that decade or so where we didn't talk?'

'Yeah, but even then you were both obsessed with knowing what the other was up to.'

'I still don't understand what it was we fought over.'

He stands up. 'Long story, and not relevant.'

'But—'

'It's more important we find out who messed with your mind, and why.' He wanders over to stand in the sunlight at the window. 'I think you and Liam found something you weren't supposed to—something to do with the Fallen— and someone wanted to make sure you didn't remember it.'

'But why not just kill us? And why didn't we tell someone what we were doing if it was that big?'

'I don't know. I wish to hell I did.'

'Liam didn't tell you?'

Killian has his arms over his head now, stretching. His shirt rides up and I see a flash of what's underneath. He drops his arms and the view is gone. So is the distraction.

'….some things to sort out with you. That's it. You'd only been talking again for a few weeks. I figured it was family stuff. You're the only twins we've got, so what went on between you was always a bit of a mystery to the rest of us.'

I rub my palms together and press them against my eyelids, soaking in the warmth. 'We have to go back.'

'To the Sanctuary?' Killian's voice hardens. I drop my hands. 'Storybrooke.'

'But there's nothing there.'

'I have to let Mary Margaret know I'm okay.'

'Ring her. We can stay here until we work out what to do.'

A few minutes ago, I would have agreed to anything, but Killian has no plan and I'm no good at sitting still.

'I have a life there. It's the only one I know, and I'm not giving it up until we know what we're doing.'

'If you go back, Rumplestiltskin will manipulate you into going to the Sanctuary. He'll send others—Lily, probably. Or Graham.'

There's that name again. 'Who's Graham?'

Something shifts in Killian's expression and he pauses before answering. 'A prick.'

'But who—'

'And I'm serious about the demons,' he presses. 'They'll come for you if they think you know something about the Fallen.'

'I have to work tomorrow.'

'Are you serious? It's a bloody animal shelter! It's not even real work.'

'It's important to me.' I fold my arms. 'You said you would take me back when I asked. You promised.'

'So? It's not like you trust me.'

'I trusted you enough to come here.'

'And why did you do that?'

'Because you asked me to.'

Killian's nostrils flare, but he doesn't say anything. He looks away first. Outside, the sky is growing brighter.

'You want to go right now?'

I glance at my watch. It's early evening back home. 'Please.'

'I won't be able to be with you every second of the day.'

I cross the floor. 'I didn't ask you to.'

'That's because you have no idea what's coming.'

He holds me tight when we shift. When I open my eyes, we're on the footpath on the street outside the entrance to our place. I keep my arms around him until my stomach stops fluttering and my skin warms. I'll never get used to that.

It's almost dark here, the sky smeared with whisps of white, streaky clouds. We're in plain sight, exposed, not exactly the perfect place to materialise out of thin air.

'What are we going to tell Mary Margaret?' I ask when I finally unwrap myself from him.

'What's this "we"? She's your friend. Tell her what you like.'

Whatever moment we shared before has well and truly passed. 'What's up your arse all of a sudden?'

'I just don't get what's so important here.'

'I told you—'

'Lily's coming back for you, isn't she?'

I stare at him in the night. 'What?'

'You think she'll be more use than me in finding Liam.'

Unbelievable. He's nearly a hundred and forty but not too old to sulk. 'I've had one conversation with Lily and it lasted less than five minutes. Why would I trust her any more than I do you?'

'Because that's what you've always done. Stuck with the safe option.'

'For fuck's sake, Killian, I have no idea what the safe option is.' I grab the scrap of paper from my pocket. I've already put the number in my phone. 'Here. Sort your shit out with her, not me.'

He tucks the paper in his jeans. 'Are you going to call her?'

'I haven't thought about it.' And I don't have the energy to fight. 'Look, I'll come with you when we know what we're doing. Until then, I'm not leaving Storybrooke. With anyone.'

He exhales. 'Fine.'

And then he disappears. Like a light going out. The air stirs where he was, but other than that there's no trace he was ever there.

I can't believe I let him have the last word.

In the kitchen, Mary Margaret is watering the few pot plants we have and that haven't croaked it yet. 'Oh my god.' She sees me, abandoning the tin watering can to the floor. 'Where have you been? Are you okay?'

She hugs me so fiercely I forget to lie. 'No.'

'Are you hurt?' Her eyes search me. 'Emma, you can't…I thought…' She steps back, says 'demons' under her breath. 'I've been worried all day.'

I wipe my face. 'I'm sorry, Mary Margaret.'

'Have you been crying?'

I shake my head, fighting back fresh tears.

Mary Margaret looks as tired as I feel. The sink is filled with dirty mugs, and there's a large book on the bench.

Her nose wrinkles. 'Why do you smell like a campfire?'

I pull the photo from my back pocket and hand it to her.

She glances at it, starts to look away, and then brings it close to her face. 'Is that Liam? God, you look so different. I never knew you had hair that short.'

I sit down at the bench. 'Me either.'

'When was this taken?

'By the look of those clothes, sometime in the eighties.'

'Killian wasn't lying?'

'It seems not.'

I tell her everything—where he took me, and how we got there. When I finish, she's still staring at me, her mouth slightly open.

'He took you to Greece?'

'That's the most interesting thing out of what I just said?'

She blushes, and her fingers stray to the leaves of one of the plants.

'So, was he charming Killian or jerk Killian?'

'A bit of both.' I count the cups in the sink. 'Where's David?' No way did he leave her sitting here on her own all day.

'He's gone to get fish and chips. You hungry?'

I haven't eaten anything since breakfast at Killiana's this morning, but I'm not in the mood to tell the story again. 'Nah, I'm good.'

Mary Margaret follows me into my room. She watches as I kick off my shoes and climb into bed, fully clothed. I don't want to talk anymore. I've shared more with her in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last year. Now I just want to hide in the dark, not talk to anyone. Sleep again. We say goodnight. She tiptoes away and my room sinks into darkness. A minute later, a floorboard creaks.

'Emma?'

'Yeah?'

'It'll be okay.'

Only Mary Margaret could actually believe that. Because, really, there's nothing about my life that's going to be okay.

TALK TO THE HAND

Piercing beeps wake me.

I slap the alarm, sending it skittering out of reach on the bedside table, and drift back to sleep. Back to the dark, murky dream I was in: shadows flickering across a distant pinprick of light. The stench of mouldy leaves and blood. Life draining out of me.

The alarm goes off again.

I drag myself through the apartment to the bathroom, my body leaden. Water dribbles out of the shower head. The shampoo bottle offers barely enough to make a lather, and I hurl the empty container over the shower screen. It clatters on the tiles and comes to rest against the door. My towel is damp. My hair won't do what I want it to, no matter how many times I try. My stomach won't stop churning. At least the nightclub dream hasn't come back. Yet.

I stare at the mirror, which is black in one corner from age, and chipped in a couple of places. I've always known who I am. My reflection is the same: hair, skin, eyes, lips, all familiar. So who is this person I'm staring at if it's not me?

David is making a cup of tea in the kitchen.

'You fucking live here now?

Mary Margaret looks up from buttering toast. 'Emma—'

I hold up my hand. 'Let's not.'

I leave the apartment, my stomach still empty.

Outside, the sky is clear and the ocean flat. The glare from the sun is blinding. I walk down Main Street, my boots clomping along on the pavement and bag banging against my hip.

Every step jolts.

I'm not who I think I am.

How am I supposed to deal with that?

I grab breakfast at Granny's. While I wait I play with a paper menu. Rip off a corner, then another.

I half-expect Killian to slide into the other side of the booth, but there's no sign of him. He's the one I should be unloading on. He brought this circus to town. I was happily living in oblivion until he turned up. And because of him, I can't shake the one thought that threatens to suffocate me.

Liam might be alive.

The table top is littered with confetti and I've run out of things to tear up. Time for work.

The day passes slowly. I try not to think about the mess that is my life, check the animals, fill out paperwork, check my email.

There's only one message: from the editor of Think Lovely Thoughts. It comes in late in the afternoon.

Emma, are you sure you want to pull the pin? Your story is on fire! 105 hits in the last 12 hours. Seriously dude. Let me keep it up a bit longer. You could win this thing.

It's too late.

I doubt those hits were from regular bloggers. That's around a hundred people who now know I'm in Storybrooke. Some of them could be here already. How am I supposed to recognise them? The fishermen who rise with the sun? The people who spend too much time in The Rabbit Hole? The owner of the marmalade cat in my lap? Maybe just the cat?

I don't bother replying to the email. What's the point of taking the story down now? Let them come. The sooner they realise I've got nothing they want, the sooner they'll leave me alone. I go put the cat back in its cage.

Anton comes in a half hour later.

'Hey what are you doing here I thought you took today off.'

'Yeah I forgot to check something on the computer.'

'Can't it wait.' I ask. The guy barely took a day off and he's back at work again.

'No it's urgent, you mind?' He gestures to the computer.

'Knock yourself out.' Anton does what ever he needs to and I sit at the desk doing other work. When he's done I expect him to leave again but he sits down in one of the armchairs.

'Here catch.' I look up just in time not to get hit by a giant bread donut.

'Bought you a bagel.'

'I can see that.' I say raising the bagel and taking a bite.

'So what's got your knickers in a twist.' he asks. I look up at him.

'My knickers are not in a twist.' I say defensively.

My annoyance fades and, I pick apart the bagel.

'I'm just having one of those days where it seems like everything is crashing down around me.' Literally.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'No.' I say it too quickly. Take a deep breath, try agin. 'I'm fine really. Thank you.' There's silence.

'Is that Free?'

'What?'

'What you were humming. Is that "All right now"?'

'I wasn't humming.'

'Yeah, you were, before when I was on the computer. You've been doing it a bit lately. Didn't pick you as a fan.'

'I'm not a fan. My brother was, though. I don't even know that song—'

But even as I speak, I can hear it running through my head. We were fighting over music before the crash. Was that what was playing when we left the road?

'Never mind. Go enjoy your day off. I'll see you soon.' Thankfully Anton leaves and once I'm alone again I hop on to YouTube and find "All right Now" by 'Free.'' When the song starts to play I sing along, word for word. It's like discovering a while other language.

When I go to close up Mary Margaret is waiting for me outside.

'Hi.' She's smiling, all cautious optimism.

'Hey.'

'You heading home now?'

'Guess so.'

She waits while I grab my bag. 'You know it's John and Michael's last night in town tonight?'

John and Michael are Neal's brothers. The two of them are heading for the big city. Neal was supposed to go with them but he changed his mind, said he wasn't ready.

'Neal's throwing a send off party in a marquee near the forest tonight. Do you want to come? Should be fun.' She's talking quickly, constantly repositioning the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. 'We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to.'

We're out on the street. The air is fresh and salty.

'Pretend like everything is normal? Like I'm normal?'

'You are normal, Emma.'

I'm not, but I appreciate her saying it.

The sun is still warm, but huge thunderheads are building out over the sea.

'Do I hum the song 'All Right Now' a lot?' I ask as we head for home, quick change before the party. She looks at me, puzzled. I sigh and start singing the words, totally out of tune. Mary Margaret smiles laughing to herself for a minute.

'Is that what it is? I can never pick it.' She gives me a curious look. 'You didn't know you did that?'

I shake my head.

'It's only when you're really lost in thought.'

'It's weird. I didn't realise I even knew the song.'

'Maybe you used to like it. You know, before.'

Of all the things to linger, you'd think music would be low on the list.

Conversation stops as we arrive outside the stairs to our apartment. There's no brown cab parked on the road.

'Where's David?' I ask.

Mary Margaret looks at me. 'He got the message.'

Oh. Right.

'Is he going to come?'

'I asked him, yes, but he won't come unless you want him to.'

'It's a free country, Mary Margaret. He can go where he likes.'

We start climbing the stairs, together. 'Really? That's not the impression I got this morning.'

We reach the landing and I pause outside the door. 'Look, I like my privacy—I'm only just getting used to sharing stuff with you. I'm not quite ready for a group hug.'

Her face softens. 'It's just…he already knows so much, and he wants to help you figure out what's going on.'

'Why?'

She smiles, coy. 'Maybe he's just a good guy.'

'Maybe he wants to impress you to score points.' I bump her with my elbow.

'Emma!' she scolds and then she laughs.

'I can live with that.' She brushes past and opens the front door but doesn't go through. 'Come with us tonight. David won't bring up anything you don't want to talk about, I promise. It'll be fun. Have a night off worrying.'

I don't know if that's even possible. But her smile is full of hope, and there are worse things to do than have a cold beer with Mary Margaret under the stars.

I'm willing to give it a try.


	11. Chapter 11

MAKE ME FORGET

By the time we arrive, the party is well under way. Someone has built a campfire and set up the keg next to the marquee and music spills out from inside. The marquee in itself is big and when we go inside it's easy enough to tell half the town is there, regardless if they have been invited or not.

After a few minutes of looking around at the sea of faces, John and Michael come over towards us. They stop and talk to a few people along the way so it takes them a minute to reach us.

'Looking good, Emma.' Michael the youngest and shortest of the two says pulling me into a big bear hug. John shakes Mary Margaret's hand and then the two trade.

'Gorgeous!' Michael says inspecting Mary Margaret.

She laughs and hugs him back as he swings her around.

Michael sets Mary Margaret down and manages to stand still while she introduces them both to David. Michael drags him into a backslapping man-hug, John shakes his hand before readjusting his glasses and then the three of them are deep in conversation. Male bonding. The brothers go off to get us beers. True to Mary Margaret's promise, David hasn't uttered a word about fallen angels, dead brothers or fake memories.

I accept a beer bottle and move outside the marquee, away from the music and the people. Cool mist kisses my skin. The moon is just making an appearance in the sky somewhere above us. There's a low rumble of thunder in the distance, but the storm is still a while away.

About half a dozen of the brother mates have spilled out of the marquee. I recognise most of them: Storybrooke's nearest and dearest. The girls are all in short skirts and tight tops, showing off their bodies. Mary Margaret is still inside. I'm wearing the skinny jeans she made me spend almost a week's wages on last month. They look good, but they're not easy to sit down in, so once I find a place to sit, I stay put, listening to the chatter and letting the beer drain the tension from my body.

'Beautiful night.'

I look behind me at Neal. He tips his beer bottle back and drinks, a canopy of trees behind him.

My thoughts stray to Killian. Where is he right now? What if he's so pissed off he's left town? What if I never see him again? I take a sip of beer, not sure if it's relief or anxiety flooding my chest.

The music from the marquee gets louder, alternating between heavy metal and dance tracks, depending on who gets to choose the music first. I can see that almost everyone is dancing around from where I'm sitting, but the opening is to small for me to see Mary Margaret.

I've reached comfortably numb.

'Refill?' Neal is standing over me.

'Shouldn't you get the night off?'

He shrugs.

'A barman's work is never done.'

I hold out my hand. 'It's okay, I need to wake up my backside. Give me a hand?'

'To wake up your backside?'

'To help me up.'

I can't see his face as he helps me to my feet.

I follow Neal to the keg, toss my empty beer bottle in the trash, then take a glass from the table beside the keg and fill it up.

'Your brother's mate still in town?' he asks as we move away towards the campfire toasting chilled fingers in the fires warmth.

I shrug. 'I'm not his keeper.'

Neal clears his throat. 'I just thought…'

I can see his face now. Its strong lines. His hair is mussed, moustache moving as he speaks, and it looks cute. He turns to me, the firelight catching the contours of his arms. Above us, the darkened sky rumbles again, closer now.

'I don't want to talk about him.'

'Oh, so you're not…?'

'No.'

He glances at me, and then studies the fire, waiting for something—probably an explanation for my behaviour in the bar.

'So he's all yours if you want him,' I say.

He bites back laughter.

'And there was a time I thought you were sweet…' He smiles.

I go to bump him with my shoulder, but I end up leaning against him. His arm comes around my waist and I hold him to steady myself. He smells of the campfire. No trace of Killian there.

I have to stop thinking about Killian. But that kiss, and how he held me when I fell to pieces, I can't get it out of my head. I need to.

I tilt my head back. Neal is watching me closely. He's not leaving town with John and Michael like he should, which means he's home most weekends. Maybe what I need is—

Neal kisses me. His lips are cold from the beer, and his touch is gentle, uncertain. He draws back a fraction, checking he hasn't misread the situation. If it was Killian, he'd have me pinned against something, anything by now, hands in my hair…I give Neal the hint of a smile. Our lips meet again.

'Come with me,' he whispers, and keeps his arm around me as we walk out of the firelight to the railing that surrounds the area.

'My brother say you're trouble,' he says. His lips brush my collarbone.

I close my eyes. 'You have no idea.'

He strokes my cheek with his thumb, so close his breath warms my skin.

'You're so beautiful, Emma.'

I kiss him before he can go on. I don't want to talk. I don't want to think.

This time I find Neal's tongue, and the connection lights a fire in him. He pushes me back against the railing and leans into me, his breath coming quickly. My body reacts to his touch, even though I'm vaguely aware it's not him I'm responding to, but the memory of another set of lips and hands. I don't care; this is my entire world right here. His hand drops to my breast and he runs the back of his fingers lightly over my singlet, lifting his face from mine to watch my reaction. Then he's kissing my neck and the ecstasy of it almost buckles my knees. I forget whose lips they are for a moment.

He slides his hands under my singlet and brings his leg between mine. My hands are on his back, pulling him to me. He can do what he wants; just let me stay lost in this sensation.

And then he's wrenched out of my arms.

I hear a grunt as he hits the ground. 'What the fuck—' He jumps to his feet.

Killian moves in front of me.

'Back off, arsehole,' Neal says. 'She's with me.'

Neal runs at him, and Killian collects him with two palms to the chest. He hits the ground again. Harder this time.

Killian turns on me and I can feel the anger rolling off him. 'What the hell are you doing out here?'

'Enjoying myself.' My heart is still racing.

'You enjoy getting felt up by the barman?'

'What's it got to do with you?'

Killian checks to see if Neal is getting up again, but for the moment he's not moving. The music from the marquee is loud. No one has noticed the scuffle.

'Do you have any idea what's at stake?'

'Yeah,' I say and wish I'd had less to drink, because that glow I was enjoying so much a moment ago is putting me at a severe disadvantage now. 'But there's nothing I can do, so I'm pretending I'm normal.'

'You're not normal,' he says. 'And being out here is reckless. Liam would kick your arse for this, and I'm tempted to give you a lesson myself.'

I step forward. 'Do it! I don't care anymore. About any of it.'

'What about Liam?'

'You mean the brother I don't know? Even if he's still out there somewhere, he's not my Liam, so what's the point?' My fingernails bite into my palms. I didn't want to share that.

'For Christ sake, Swan, you're acting like a child!'

'And you're acting like someone who cares about me.'

Killian checks on Neal again. He's gone. Can't blame him really. I'm not worth the hassle.

Killian moves in closer, blocking out the light from the fire. 'Get your shit together; it's not safe here. And do up your pants.'

I'm about to tell him to grow up when I check my jeans and find them undone. He's good with his hands, Neal, I'll give him that.

Killian gives me no privacy while I get myself sorted. 'So, what, you like the barman?' His tone is prickly.

'Neal's a good guy.'

Killian leans in. 'Does he kiss like me?'

I ignore the heat that flares at his nearness. 'No. Like I said, he's a good guy.'

'So good he got your pants undone without you noticing. You really know how to get that testosterone firing.'

'Would you just leave it—'

'Emma!'

I stop. It's Mary Margaret. Something's wrong.

'EMMA!'

I push past Killian. Everyone is running out of the marquee, running to watch something on the other side of it. I'm running now, quickly moving past the crowds, searching for Mary Margaret. David is on the ground, slowly staggering to his feet, a hand pressed to the back of his head. I help him, and that's when I see it: Regina leading Mary Margaret into the trees, her arm around her. Mary Margaret is straining to look back over her shoulder, not putting up a fight. Regina must have a weapon.

'Hey!' I rush towards them, trying to give Killian time to do something. But Regina a is deep in the forest now, out of sight of the others. She sees me and smiles. And then she disappears, taking Mary Margaret with her.

THE SECRETS WE KEEP

'Bitch,' Killian says under his breath, catching up to me. He grabs my elbow. 'Act like it's a prank, or this is all going to turn bad, real quick.'

'She took Mary Margaret.' My heart is smashing against my ribcage. I might also be hyperventilating.

'And we're the only ones who can get her back. We don't want the cops here.'

John and Michael reach us at the same time.

'What just happened?' John looks Killian up and down. 'And who are you?'

Without Mary Margaret, I'm completely exposed. 'This is Killian. He's a mate of my brother's.' But they are more interested in an explanation for Mary Margaret's departure, so I say the first thing that pops into my head. 'That girl was David's ex.'

David blinks.

'Wow.' Michael turns to him. 'What's her drama?'

David might be surprised but he doesn't miss a beat. 'Not enough attention from her parents.' He's already got his car keys out.

'Yeah, but—'

'Seriously, this is what she does. She tried this with my last girlfriend too. I found them at the pub half an hour later trading stories about me.'

John looks back at the spot where they disappeared. 'That didn't look like she was inviting Mary Margaret for a drink.'

'It's all show. She's just making sure I got the message.'

'I'd call that overkill.' Someone calls out to John. He half-turns towards the voice.

'We'll sort this,' I say. 'Leave it with us.'

Killian catches my eye, nods in the direction of the forest. 'I'll go this way, see if I can catch them. You should come with me.'

Yeah, because I'd trust him right now not to shift with me, and leave me on the other side of the planet.

'I'll go with David.'

Killian mutters something I don't catch and then veers off into the trees.

The brothers stew for a few more seconds, then nod and go back to the party.

On the way to the car, I look around for David. He's sitting by the fire, watching me. Hurt. Angry. I look away.

The music is muffled as soon as we slam the doors.

'What the hell happened?'

David jams the key into the ignition and starts the car.

'We were just standing there, dancing.' I try not to imagine it, Mary Margaret's arms wrapped around Jason waist, pressed against his chest with a happy smile on her face. Innocent. 'She came out of nowhere.' He pulls me out of my thoughts and drives onto the road that trails around to the side of the forest and guns the engine. 'I think she hit me with something, something hard.' He holds his hand out to me; his fingertips are covered with blood.

I dial Mary Margaret's number. 'Straight to voicemail.'

'What are we going to do?'

'I've got a few ideas,' Killian says from the backseat.

I nearly jump through the windscreen. David jerks the steering wheel, and gravel sprays up from the tyres. Trees loom dangerously close. He brings the car back to the centre again and glances at Killian in the rear-view mirror.

'How on earth can you do that in a moving vehicle?'

'Practice.'

I twist around in my seat. 'Where have you looked?'

'Your place, mine, the riverbank. Nothing.'

'She shouldn't be caught up in all this,' David mutters.

I shake my head. 'Neither should you.'

'I told you being out here was reckless,' Killian says. 'If you'd stayed with me none of this would have happened.'

'Bullshit,' I all but spit at him. 'Regina could have grabbed Mary Margaret while she was asleep. The end result's the same.'

We drive past endless trees but it's hopeless. 'Go back home.' I tell David, he looks ready to argue but I butt in before he has the chance. 'If Regina has shifted with Mary Margaret then getting lost in the forest and driving around and round circles is pointless.'

'She's right.' David glares at Killian but I can tell he'll do what I ask. The black forest falls away as we turn around and drive back towards Main Street David puts his foot down and we're at the we're outside the apartment in minutes. I lock the door to the street, something I never do. I know it won't keep out the people I want it to but still. I know Killian's already been here, but I still check everywhere, calling Mary Margaret's name. I leave her room till last because I know she's not in it. Her bed and work table are strewn with papers, kids assignments from school. Her closet is filled with clothes and shoe boxes.'Because after true love, there is no more powerful magic than footwear. It has to be protected.'

In the kitchen, David is in Killian's face. 'Where is she?'

'How would I know? I'd take a step back, Dave, if you don't want to bleed some more tonight.'

David holds his ground for a few seconds, his chest rising and falling. And then he steps away.

'How about an educated guess?' I ask Killian.

He shrugs. 'Somewhere sanctioned by Rumple.'

'The Sanctuary?'

'Probably.'

Sheet lightning momentarily flares in the roiling sky. The storm is almost on us.

'Then go there.'

He laughs without humour. 'To the Sanctuary? No chance.'

'Why not?'

A large rumble shakes the apartment.

'I haven't set foot there in ten years, and I'm sure as hell not changing that now.'

'Then take me.'

'No.'

I stare at him. 'You're a selfish prick, you know that?'

'And you're naive. You don't even know what the Sanctuary is, do you?'

'Well, here's a thought: explain it to me.'

His fingers flex. Almost a threat. 'It's an old monastery,' he says. 'In the Piedmont mountains. It's got a dozen buildings and hundreds of rooms over three floors. If she's there, she could be anywhere. I wouldn't know where to look.'

'You could ask someone. You must still have some friends there.'

His eyes harden. 'I'd never give Rumplestiltskin the satisfaction. I'm not grovelling to him—or anyone else.'

'Then what are you going to do?'

Killian pushes off from the bench. 'You two stay here. I'll be back.'

'Don't you dare disappear or I'll—'

He's gone before I finish my threat. 'Shit!'

I walk into the bathroom open the window. A gust of cool air hits me, and the smell of rain. It's close by. This time the lightning is forked, and the thunder that follows rattles the plates stacked on the sink.

'Regina wants me, not Mary Margaret. She won't hurt her.' I say walking back to David I'm trying to convince myself as much as David. I tap my fingers on the dish rack, my mind racing. 'Lily!'

David is right behind me. 'You have her number?'

I'm already scrambling to get my phone out. The call goes straight to voicemail. I tell her what happened, leave my address and then hang up.

'That's it. I'm out of ideas.' I collapse at the table.

David goes to the sink, drinks a glass of water and comes back to the bench. Then he moves past me to the door. Then back to the sink, then the bench and the door again.

'That's not helping.'

He nods, and pulls up a chair next to me.

'I can help,' he says.

'What are you talking about?'

He swallows. 'Give me your hand.'

I blink. 'Why?'

'Please, just give it to me.'

He guides my fingers under his hair to the nape of his neck. To the shape of a crescent moon.

OFF BALANCE. AGAIN

'I can go after her. I just need to know where the Sanctuary is. Exactly where it is.'

I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. I've got nothing.

David lets my hand drop. 'I wasn't found with the others. No one knows I exist.'

I vaguely remember Killian saying something about the possibility of other offspring.

'But you can shift?'

'Not with as much precision as the others, but I get by.'

I stare at him. Really see him for the first time.

'Why did you come to Storybrooke?'

'To find you.' He holds his palms up by way of apology. 'I'd heard about you and your brother and—'

'What do you want from me?'

'I'm just looking for my father like everyone else.'

'You lied.'

'No. I don't tell anyone what I am. I've hidden from Rumplestiltskin for nearly a century and a half because I don't want to get dragged into his apocalyptic politics. But if it means getting Mary Margaret back—'

'You used Mary Margaret.'

'No, it's not like that. I didn't know I could still feel this way about a woman.' He rubs his hand over his eyes. 'This is a mess.'

I let him stew.

'You've never been to the Sanctuary?' I finally ask.

He shakes his head. 'I've heard about it, and know roughly where it is, but it's difficult for me to shift somewhere I haven't physically been.'

'What does that mean?'

'If I get somewhere normally—plane, train, whatever— I can shift there again. It's like I bookmark it.' He shrugs. 'I've been able to shift blind over small distances if I know enough about the location. If you can get Killian to give you details about the Sanctuary, I'll go there myself and bring her back. He doesn't need to know.'

'What about Regina? Can you fight?'

'Not like them. I wasn't raised and trained with the others. I've kept to myself—'

'Are you even a firefighter?'

'Among other things. I've had time to pick up some qualifications over the years.'

Something's still missing here. 'How do you know about the Fallen and the Rephaim then, if you never joined them?'

'My mother told me about my father—'

'I thought all the women died.'

'Not true.' He pauses. He's struggling with something. 'I grew up in Italy in a tiny fishing village. When I was five, I climbed the tallest sycamore tree in our garden, and got stuck. Mamma stood underneath for hours, trying to talk me down. She finally lost her patience and yelled at me. I lost my grip and fell. I landed on my feet without a scratch, let alone a sprained ankle. I wanted to tell everyone I could fly, so she had to tell me the truth about who I was.' David taps the table. 'She said an angel appeared to her when she was walking along the beach at dusk. Mamma was the daughter of a fisherman—a good Catholic girl. She figured it wasn't a sin if she gave herself to an angel, and she didn't plan on telling anyone about him. But then a month later she found out she was pregnant.' The cracking of thunder booms above us. 'She said I couldn't tell anyone because there were other angels who would find me and hurt me.'

There's a knocking, faint and far off.

'Do you here that?'

'Yeah it's from the door downstairs you locked it remember. Emma, please,' David whispers. 'Don't say a word to anyone.'

I fling the front door open and run down the stairs. Please be Mary Margaret, please. I know my prayers won't be answered. I stop in front of the door and find myself staring at one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen.

I fumble to unlatch the door, I'm utterly distracted. He's got the cheekbones of a model, soft lips and short, brown styled hair. In the night light, he looks like he's come from a photo shoot. I'm taking all this in, which is my excuse for staring. I don't know what his excuse is because he's just as fixated by me.

'Emma.' His voice is deep, and breaks a little as he says my name.

I shouldn't be surprised he knows who I am, but it still rocks me. I rest a hand on the doorframe.

'And you are?'

Something passes across his face. Disappointment?

'My name is Graham.'

I close my mouth. The guy Killian hates. Another Rephaite.

'Do you know where Mary Margaret is?'

'Yes.'

'Is she all right?'

'She's unharmed.'

'Bring her back. Now.'

'We need to talk.'

'Make it quick.'

I step back and let him ascend the stairs, closing the door after he him. He hesitates until I start climbing.

'Why didn't you just come straight in?' I might not like it but I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of unannounced visitors coming. Clearly this guy, Graham, has the decency to ask permission, of sorts.

'I didn't want to be disrespectful.' He says with no further explanation. He smells woodsy, musky. Like Killian, he looks about twenty. He's dressed impeccably three piece suit a tie that matches his eyes. He's not as tall as Killian, or as broad shouldered, but he walks like he doesn't expect to fail.

We reach the landing and the apartment door is still open. He falters, when he sees David.

I introduce them. 'David is Mary Margaret's boyfriend.'

Their handshake is brief. Graham turns his back to David. 'Is there somewhere we can talk in private?'

Another crack of thunder. The sky lights up.

'This is as private as it's going to get.'

'But—'

'David knows about the Rephaim.'

Graham's cool expression doesn't change. 'How is that possible?'

I move around him, forcing Graham to face both of us. 'Regina and her idiot mate weren't very subtle. She threw me into a tree with inhuman strength, broke my ribs. Mentioned someone called Semyaza—so we did some research. And then she showed up at a party, snatched up Mary Margaret, and disappeared into thin air. All in front of David.'

Graham is watching me with unnerving intensity. 'But who told you about the Rephaim?'

When I don't answer, he twists his lips. 'Killian. And where is he now?'

'Looking for Mary Margaret,' I say. 'Is she at the Sanctuary?'

'You remember it?'

I pick up a non existent spec of dirt from my singlet. 'Until two days ago, I thought I was a backpacker, so, no, I don't remember it.'

'Can you still shift?'

'I wouldn't know how.'

'But you have shifted recently?'

'I had to, after Regina worked me over the other night.'

He waits.

'I was in bad shape. Killian took me.'

'Where?

I shrug. 'I passed out.'

I don't tell him about the second trip. I don't know him and he doesn't fit the picture I've been putting together of the Rephaim. He's more controlled than Killian and Regina, guarded.

'Do you know where Mary Margaret is or not?'

He nods. 'You have to come with me.'

'Why not bring her here?' David says.

Graham doesn't take his eyes from me. 'Because it's up to Emma to secure her freedom.'

'Why?'

'Because this is all about her.'

Of course it is. My stomach flips.

'Why should I trust you?'

'You used to, with your life.'

Heat flares in my chest. 'Did I? So you must know what Liam and I were doing when we went missing.'

'You remember him?'

'Answer the question.'

Graham takes a step closer. 'Do you remember what happened with your brother?'

'All I remember is a car accident, which apparently never happened. So, again, no, I don't remember. Now answer my question. Did I tell you what Liam and I were planning to do?'

He watches me, impassive. 'No.'

'Then I couldn't have trusted you that much.'

We eyeball each other. He wins.

'I want my friend safe and sound.'

'Then come with me.'

David touches my arm. 'Maybe you should wait for Killian.'

I frown at him. A minute ago, he was in Killian's face, and now he thinks Killian's our best option? Killian had his chance to take me.

'I don't have time to wait.'

'Make sure you tell him she's with me,' Graham says.

I have a blinding urge to punch his perfect nose.

'Emma, don't go. We've got more to talk about.'

'I'm coming back.' I want to sound confident, but my throat is already closing up.

Graham waits for me to look at him. 'Come to me,' he says.

It's an order. I don't move.

He sighs, and it's the first sign of real emotion since his brief lapse at the front door. 'Please.' He holds out a hand.

I take it, surprised to find his fingers a little clammy. Did I do that, or is it just the storm?

He laces his fingers through mine. 'Don't let go.'

'This is it?' I panic, remembering the wild sensation of shifting with Killian.

'As long as we're in contact, I won't lose you.'

I close my eyes. So, no need for intimate embraces then? Killian's really been having fun with me. I grip Graham's hand as the storm breaks out, clouds opening up, drowning out everything else.


	12. Chapter 12

PLEASED TO MEET YOU. NOT.

Shifting with Graham is nothing like shifting with Killian. It's less extreme for starters, no worse than being on a rollercoaster. Then there's a change in the temperature and the air feels more artificial.

I'm in what looks like a pricey hotel room, everything stainless steel and polished timber. The carpet and walls are beige, soulless. There's a bed, a desk, and a flat-screen TV on the wall. But no Mary Margaret.

'Where is she?'

Graham lets my hand go. 'In a moment.'

'Let me see her.'

He walks to the door and I follow.

'I need to speak to some people first. Be patient.'

'This is me being patient.'

He turns to me. 'I need you to wait here.'

'Why?'

'We're at the Sanctuary. There are rules.'

'Didn't I used to live here?'

'And now you're a guest.'

I know the door is locked before I turn the handle, but I try anyway, then press my ear against the cool timber. Faint voices. I can't make out words but Graham is talking to at least one other person. Male. The voices fade. Tell me I haven't done something incredibly stupid.

The windows are the oldest things in the room, three of them, rectangular with timber frames. A white muslin curtain obscures a bleak sky outside. I pull it back and draw in my breath. It's not the sky that's grey. It's the side of a mountain. There are snow-covered peaks high above. Three storeys below is a wide piazza with a fountain in the middle and, beyond that, a church with a domed roof.

Killian said the Sanctuary was an old monastery. I'm in the right place. I push open a window and a cold blast drives me back. Much colder than Storybrooke. I slam it and rub my bare arms to warm up.

Fuck. I'm in Italy.

I pull my phone out, thinking I'll call Lily again. But there's nothing where the signal bars should be. Which is when I remember I stopped paying for international roaming six months ago. Shit.

A bell tolls. Monks in dark robes move along a cloister on the far side of the piazza, towards the church. I'm trying to figure out why monks live with the Rephaim when the door opens behind me.

Graham places a top on the bed, a light, white knit.

'That won't be enough to keep you warm,' he says, gesturing to my singlet. He seems to be making an effort not to look at my breasts. I make it easier for him by folding my arms.

'I don't want hand-me-downs. I want Mary Margaret.'

His mouth quirks a little, but it's far from a smile. 'It's your jumper. You left most of your things behind when you went.'

'Where. Is. Mary Margaret?'

'I told you, she's safe. As soon as you tell me what happened with you and Liam, she'll go home.' He could easily pass for a model with his brown hair and brown eyes. There's even a hint of an accent.

'Is she here?'

'She's safe.'

For a second I can't feel my legs.

She's not here.

I've given myself over to them for nothing. I knew this was a trap, but I still thought I'd find Mary Margaret in it somewhere. 'You lied to me… I trusted you and you lied to me.' I lower myself onto the edge of the bed. The mattress is hard.

'I never said she was here.'

'You're an arsehole.'

'I didn't lie.' It seems important to Graham that I believe him.

'No, you just let me believe a lie.'

'Your friend is safe, and your cooperation will keep her that way. That's not a lie.'

I focus on the thick beige carpet, blood throbbing at my temples. I may be caught here, but that doesn't mean I have to play nice. I get up and move towards the desk, my eyes still down.

'Emma.' Graham's voice is soft. 'You have to prove your loyalty. You've been hiding on the other side of the world with Killian Jones. You have to understand how that looks. Regina is not your enemy. Neither am I—'

I grab the chair and swing it at his head, hard and fast. But he's faster. He dodges sideways, barely making a sound as he blocks the strike. Before I can turn to swing again, the air beside me shimmers. I have time to recognise Regina's partner in crime, Robin before he knocks me onto the bed and straddles me. I thrash wildly. He shifts his knees until they're on my shoulders, and pins my wrists over my head with one hand. His other is around my throat.

'Robin, enough!'

The pressure immediately eases.

'Get off her.'

He does as he's ordered. I spring to my feet, backing away until I hit the wall beside the bed, all the while dragging in oxygen. Graham is by the window, straightening his clothes. He's not calm anymore. 'I told you to stay out of this.'

'But she attacked you—'

'You don't think I can look after myself?' Graham's tone is dangerous, and Robin lowers his eyes.

'Of course, Graham. I'm sorry.'

How did he know what was going on in here? I scan the room and see a small black dome over the door. Like the ones you see in supermarkets and service stations.

The door opens. Regina. Her black hair is tied back and now she's wearing dark jeans and dark shirt.

'Look who's come home,' she says, walking calmly into the room.

Bitch.

I leap on the bed and launch myself at her.

'Regina, no—' Graham says. But her fist catches me while I'm still in the air. I have no idea how hard I hit the floor because the world goes black before I get there.

END OVER END

When I come to, there is blood in my mouth and ropes cutting into my skin.

I'm still in the beige room, but now I'm tied to a chair. Not the flimsy wooden one I tried to break open Graham's head with, but something sturdier. Antique, by the feel of it. What is it with the Rephaim and old furniture?

My tongue finds split flesh inside my cheek. My face aches. I'm wearing the white jumper Graham brought for me; it's a good fit, so maybe he wasn't lying about it being mine.

My back is to the door. Like I'm not vulnerable enough strapped to a chair.

'Arseholes,' I say, and wish it didn't come out as a croak. There's no response but I know I'm not alone. 'I'm thirsty.'

There's movement behind me, followed by clinking glass and the sound of liquid pouring. Graham steps in front of me, holding a heavy tumbler.

'Are you going to sit still?' he asks.

I give him a black look.

He puts one hand behind my head and lifts the glass to my mouth. I part my lips, and he cradles my head while I drink. When I'm finished, his hand lingers under my hair, and then his fingers trail down to the thick scar.

I jerk out of his reach and his fingers don't follow. He sits on the edge of the bed, which was remade while I was out cold.

'So, Regina's not my enemy?' I find the cut in my cheek again.

Graham rests his elbows on his knees, watching me through thick eyelashes.

'How many days was Killian with you?'

This is what he wants to know?

'I don't know. A couple.'

'Did you sleep with him?'

'What the hell would that have to do with you?'

'Nothing at all.' He's as unreadable as ever. 'But Emma Swan would never forgive you.'

My hands ball into fists. 'Stop talking like there are two different people involved here. I am Emma Swan.'

'All right. You won't forgive yourself.'

'And why is that?'

'Didn't he tell you?'

'All he told me was that I broke his nose the last time I saw him.'

He pauses. 'Well, that's something.'

I can't tell if he means the fact Killian told me, or that I broke his nose.

'Did he tell you you're the only Rephaite woman he hasn't been with? No?' A pitying smile. 'He's seduced all of them except you, Emma. And before he left here, he was obsessed with having you, so I find it hard to believe he hasn't taken advantage of the current situation.'

My smile is bitter. 'You'll be happy to hear my record is untarnished.' He can thank Mary Margaret for that.

His shoulders relax a fraction. How important was that answer?

'You need to remember, lust is what made our fathers fall,' he says. 'Lust is part of our nature. Even when you didn't know what you were, you must have felt it?'

Heat spreads across my cheeks and I turn my face away. I actually hadn't felt it until Killian walked out of my dreams and into The Rabbit Hole that night. Correction: until Killian ran his hands through my hair and kissed my neck…

'Rumplestiltskin has taught us control. It's what separates us from those like Milah and Killian.'

'And Liam?'

He nods. 'It's why you didn't follow him, no matter how much he wanted you to turn your back on the Sanctuary. You understood the need for discipline and restraint.'

'Who's Milah?'

Grahaml's lips harden. 'The worst example of what we can be. Obsessed with sex and power and incapable of respecting authority.'

'And she left with Liam?'

'She manipulated him beautifully.'

I can't imagine my brother being manipulated by anyone. 'Was he in love with her?'

Graham lets out a low laugh. 'No. Killian was.'

I ignore the faint sting behind my ribs. 'So, why did Liam leave?'

'For the same reason the other twenty-one did. To do as they pleased. And because your brother and Killian were incapable of independent thought. Whatever one did, the other followed. Your brother chose him over you. You owe him no loyalty.'

'I'm not protecting him. The brother I remember was fiercely loyal, had a love of the sea and adventure, and loved me with all his heart—not the guy you're talking about.' The ropes are biting into my wrists. I can move my arms a little, but there's no relief. 'Help me understand this. Liam, Killian and the others—they left here, but they still fight demons?'

Graham laces his fingers together. 'It's not the same. We fight demons to keep them from the Fallen. The Outcasts provide a mercenary service. They track and kill demons with no regard for human collateral damage. They hire themselves out to the highest bidder to solve problems.' He regards me for a moment. 'But you already know that. You wrote about it. And that particular bit of recklessness cost sixteen human lives.'

'I dreamed it. I had no idea it was real.'

'You dreamed about fighting with Killian?'

I grit my teeth. 'When I wrote about it, I had no idea he was a real person.'

Graham takes a slow breath. Good to know I'm getting under his skin. 'Please, Emma, tell me what you remember.'

'Will you let me out of these ropes then?'

'Perhaps.'

I don't believe him, but I've got nothing to lose.

So I tell him what I told Killian: about backpacking with Liam, the crash, and what happened when I was in hospital. I don't get choked up talking about it this time—either because I've said the words out loud before, or because I'm starting to believe they might not be true—but it still drains me.

'And you knew nothing about the Fallen or the Rephaim until a few days ago?'

'No.'

He has ditched the suit jacket and tie somewhere. He folds his shirtsleeves up over his toned forearms. He doesn't dress like he's about to commit violence, but I get the feeling he's capable of it.

'What's your story?'

The question catches him off guard. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, you don't seem to be a meathead like Regina and Robin—'

'You're different, so what do you do?'

'I'm one of the Council of Five. The governing council of the Rephaim.'

'I thought Rumplestiltskin ran the show.'

'He's our leader, not a dictator. We elect our own council every five years.'

That explains a lot. He's a politician. 'I hope you don't think you're getting my vote.'

He dips his head but I think I catch a smile.

'What?'

When he speaks, his voice is warm. 'You're like my Emma in so many ways. I miss her.'

My Emma?

I'm trying to work out how to ask the obvious question when there's a rap on the door. Graham stands up, his face again composed in that infuriatingly calm expression. He talks to someone in the hallway and then comes back into my line of sight.

'I have to attend to something. You should drink some more before I go.'

He pours another glass of water and again slides his fingers into my hair to hold my head. It makes me think of Killian.

And then Graham's gone and I'm alone, tied to a chair in a monastery in Italy. I'm exhausted. Every muscle in my body aches and my eyelids are too heavy to keep open. Warmth floods across my chest, and as I give in to the pull of sleep, the realisation hits.

The bastard has drugged me.


	13. Chapter 13

LIVING IN MY HEAD

As usual, I wake to a mixture of loud voices and blaring music. Bloody roommates.

'Will you guys shut up!' I call out, and drag the quilt up to my neck. I hate this, sharing a room with five other girls because there isn't enough room in the orphanage to have any less in a room.

I'm the oldest of anyone in the room by about two years. The chances of me being adopted now, with Liam is about a zero. I have given up hope.

The music's volume stays unchanged and the girls are still screaming at each other. I groan, fall out of bed and storm from the room.

I march to Liam's quarters not caring about my bare feet, or the fact I'm breaking the rules just to see my twin.

My brothers roommate, Kevin, opens the door when I bang my fist against it.

'Liam your sister's here.' Kevin says walking back inside.

Liam appears in a flash. 'Em, you alright?' He stands there in torn jeans and a faded t-shirt. 'What's wrong?' He asks, ushering me into the room and I sit on his bed crossing my legs and leaning my head against the wall.

'I'm alright, just sick of the girls in my room. I needed to see you' Liam sits beside me, wraps his arm around my waist so I can lean my head against his shoulder. His room is empty but for him and Kevin and it's peacefully quiet.

'You just stay here.' He has morphed into protective brother mode and I snuggle a little closer.

Kevin looks up from his corner of the room. 'She's not staying here.' He says angrily.

My anger flares and I pick up the baseball from Liam's bedside table and throw it at Kevin. It flies through the air with great speed and it hits him square in the nose. Blood starts gushing and Liam buries his laughter in my hair.

Tears form in Kevin's eyes and I feel guilt pushing in on me without the rage.

'I'm sorry.' I didn't mean to hurt him. Kevin runs from the room and the sound of the door slamming echoes long after he's gone.

Liam laughs. 'Oh, I'm going to pay for that tomorrow.' He's not wrong the orphanage will no doubt enforce harsh punishment and Kevin will smile with glee.

I pull away so we can look at each other.

'What?' His proud smile disappears into confusion.

'I think we should do it.' I sit up drawing my knees to my chest.

'Do what?'

'Hit the road.'

A smile spreads across his face.

'You're serious aren't you?'

I nod. We've always talked about leaving, someday. I'm not sure how much longer I can stand being cooped up here. I want to be with Liam. I want us to be free.

I give him a gentle shove. We sit there, grinning at each other. Where will we go first? We've always talked about the places we'll visit. Read about them in glossy coloured magazines.

'They're going to lose it,' he says, nodding in the direction of the door. He's right of course but we'll be long gone by the time they can do anything to stop us.

'They'll hardly notice.' A harsh, true reality.

The orphanage is so overrun with kids and low on money and care that leaving will be easy. We could have left years ago.

'Are you sure we've got enough cash?'

I nod. 'For a couple of months at least, we can find a car, go to all the places these arseholes have been promising we can visit once we get adopted. After that we can go anywhere we want, drive across the border and settle down, somewhere sunny with a beach.'

'You read my mind.'

'And when the money's gone, we'll look for work.'

'Good enough for me.' He smiles. 'When do we leave?'

'Tomorrow night. We can get organised by then. We've got money, maps and passports—'

'Our charm and wit.'

'Now all we need is an itinerary and a way out.' I collapse back on the bed and stare up at the patched ceiling. 'We're going to do this, aren't we?'

He nudges me with my foot. 'You bet your arse we are.'

I turn so I can look him in the eye. 'You're not worried about what could happen?'

I shrug. 'Nope. You?'

'Shit, no. It's you and me against the world, kid. Who's gonna get in our way?'

It's the best dream I've had of Liam since he died, and I can still hear his voice when I wake up. About a second before someone shoves my head into a tub of freezing water.

WEARING BLACK AND BLUE

I claw at the fingers that are clamped around my neck, holding me under. My throat has closed over, but water rushes up my nose. My lungs are on fire. Air…Any second now I'm going to pass out.

I thrash and kick, striking something that feels like bone. My head is ripped out of the water and I'm flung backwards, hitting something hard. A wall. I make horrible noises trying to get air back into my lungs. The floor under my hands is tiled, and cold. Tremors rip through my body. I'm soaking wet, tasting blood.

'Come on, Emma, you've got to have more than that.'

Through strands of wet hair, I see Robin standing with his leg up on an enamel bath, rubbing his shin.

We're in a gleaming bathroom with fresh white towels and a thick bath mat I'm possibly about to throw up on.

'What's happening?' I manage to rasp.

'I'm trying to help you.'

I choke. 'What, drown?'

He sits on the edge of the bath. 'Come on, you know you can't die unless you lose your head.'

I stare at him, more interested in breathing than speaking.

'We don't kill each other, Emma. There's not enough of us left as it is.' He checks me over. 'Ready?'

I scramble sideways as he comes at me, wondering where Graham is and why Robin's been let loose on me. But the door is shut and Robin grabs me by my hair before I reach the handle, and drags me back towards the tub.

'You know how to get out of this.' he says, keeping clear of my fists. I search for purchase on the tiles, but he's too strong. I have time to inhale before he plunges my head under again.

Back in that wet, muted world, the panic is overwhelming. I can't die. I could drown for hours. I open my eyes. Black spots flicker against white enamel. I reach out, fingers scraping for the plug. But the bath is too big; I can't reach it.

The thought comes again. I can't die. This isn't about killing me—this is about hurting me. And by thrashing I'm making Robin's job easier.

I stop struggling, but his grip doesn't loosen. He must know how long he's got before I slide into unconsciousness. I grip the bath again and push back with all my strength. Robin presses down harder to keep me under. When he's right over me, I let my arms go limp. He loses his balance, stumbles, and I slam my elbow upwards. From the way he lets go of my hair, I've found the target.

Again I stagger back, gasping, but this time I keep my feet. I look around for a weapon, but there's nothing close by except a plastic toilet brush.

'Shit, woman.' Robin's leaning against the wall, clutching between his legs but still blocking my way to the door.

What would badass Emma do in this situation? I lunge for the brush. Surprise registers on Robin's face just before I fling it at him. I wrench open the door and stumble through.

Graham, is standing with his back to the room, looking out the window. He turns when he hears me and I race for the outer door. I'm moving too fast and hit it hard with my shoulder. I grapple for the door handle, and then my break-out attempt is over. It's still locked from the outside. Of course.

Graham hasn't moved from the window, but he's watching me, his face bleak. It's darker outside—late afternoon. How long was I out?

I sink to the floor. 'What the fuck?'

Graham glances at the bathroom and runs a hand through his hair. 'The easy way didn't work.'

I push my soaking fringe out of my face. 'For what?'

'Getting to the truth.'

'I've told you the truth.'

'No, you haven't, because you don't remember it.'

I sit there, dripping water all over the carpet. 'You think drugging and drowning me will help?'

'I gave you something to open your mind, but it's a mess in there. Everything bleeds together.'

'So the next option is to let that arsehole hold my head underwater?'

Something in the bathroom catches Graham's attention and he holds up a hand to stop Robin from whatever he was about to do. 'It's not just your mind that's forgotten things—your body has too. If we can get your instincts to kick in, then maybe your mind will follow.'

I wring out my hair. 'Did I pass?'

He moves closer.

I wish I had something to throw at him. 'Don't touch me.'

'Emma, this is not the way I wanted to do this. But whoever did this to you left us with no choice.'

'Of course there's a choice—you could choose not to hurt me! You could accept my memories are gone. Whatever I may or may not have known about your precious Fallen no longer exists.' I stop to catch my breath again.

Graham has paused halfway across the room. 'The Fallen are as important to you as they are to us. Your father is among them, and your fate is as tied to them as ours.'

Robin emerges from the bathroom, his jaw set. Graham gives him a cursory glance. 'Go,' he says.

Robin raises his chin, as if he's not quite ready to walk away from his work.

'Now,' Graham says.

Robin eyes me, and then he disappears in a blink. I should have known he wouldn't leave the room like a normal person.

Graham offers me a dry towel. I snatch it and wipe my face and neck, and then drape it around my wet shoulders. He sits on the bed and gestures for me to join him.

I don't.

'Emma—'

'Don't!'

A sigh. 'Emma. The Fallen are the scourge of heaven and hell. They're hunted by angels and demons, reviled for their weakness. We're their illicit offspring—the product of their sins.'

'So?'

'The archangels despise us—they've only let us live because of Rumplestiltskin.'

'How does finding them change any of that?'

'It shows we're loyal to heaven.'

'Why don't you just leave it to the demons to find the Fallen and take them back to hell? Find something else to do with your lives.'

Three lines crease his smooth forehead. 'The only way we can redeem ourselves is to deliver Semyaza and the Fallen to the Angelic Garrison, show that we're willing to hand our fathers over.'

'And then what?'

'And then the archangels will accept us among them.'

'How do you know that's what they want? Or that they'll give you anything?'

Graham's face darkens. 'What crap has Killian been telling you?'

It's the closest he's come to profanity. I'm tempted to keep pushing, but I have a more important question.

'Where's God in all this?'

'God's covenant with mankind has nothing to do with us,' he says. 'We're neither angel nor human. We're something in between.'

I hold out my arms. 'Really?' I'm trying to mock him, but the idea I'm something other than human deeply unnerves me.

'Appearances can be deceiving.'

'How can you be so sure you're not just a human with a few special gifts?'

'Humans grow old and die. Humans have children.'

I pick at the carpet, breaking his gaze. Not that I was planning on having kids anytime soon, but I'd assumed I'd be able to if that day came.

'We're hybrids, Emma, we can't procreate.'

Is that a hint of bitterness?

I stretch out my bad leg. My knee protests. 'But God created angels and humans. Angels were there at the virgin birth, and they were there when Jesus rose from the dead, after dying for humans. You can't separate the two. So how can we be nothing?'

Graham stands up. He rotates his wrist until it cracks—further evidence he was something other than a politician not so long ago. 'We leave the existential questions to our priests and philosophers. And you forget, we have Rumplestiltskin.'

'An actual fallen angel.'

'An actual angel.' The edge in his voice warns me I'm heading into territory that may lead to my head in a bath again.

I shiver. I'm wet and cold. The adrenaline has gone now, and my muscles ache. 'Any chance I could have a hot shower without someone trying to drown me?'

He regards me for a moment and then nods. 'Of course.'

I use the door handle to pull myself up, then limp across the room. I pause before I go back into the bathroom. 'Why is everyone so convinced that what happened to me has anything to do with the Fallen?'

Graham closes his eyes for a second and sighs. 'Do you believe a car accident is responsible for giving you new memories?'

I rub my neck. Robins fingers have left more bruises. 'No. But do you really think Liam and I found the Fallen when no one has been able to in over a century?'

'It's possible.'

'You think two hundred angels are just hiding out somewhere in the world?'

'We're not convinced they're in this dimension.'

It takes me a second to absorb that. 'Then how is anyone going to be able to find them?'

Graham picks a tiny piece of lint from his shirt. 'Wherever they are, they got there from somewhere in this realm, and if we can find that location, Rumplestiltskin can track them.'

'Oh.' My brain is now officially full.

The door closes behind Graham. No flashy shifting like Robin.

I shut myself in the bathroom and stand there for a good minute, staring at the water in the tub and the twisted bath mat. And then I dash to the toilet and throw up.

THE LIE IN THE REFLECTION

In spite of everything, or maybe because of it, the shower is the best I've had for a long time. The water pressure is so fierce it almost drives me against the glass screen. I withstand it, letting the heat seep into my bones.

Emptiness gnaws at me.

I can't ignore it any longer. The sense that something's missing. I've always assumed it was this other Emma, but maybe what I've been missing is me.

I help myself to expensive-looking shampoo and conditioner. When I finally get out of the shower, smelling like frangipani, I drag my forearm across the steamy mirror and look at myself. Still the same Emma. Somehow, I keep expecting to see someone different—the person everyone else seems to know.

Wet hair drips down my back. I run my fingertips over the lumpy tissue on my neck. It feels the same, but it means something else now.

Someone tried to cut my head off.

I had stitches and recovered the slow, painful way. Nobody shifted and healed me. Does that mean Liam really is dead? Because if he survived, surely he would have healed me like Killian did. I exhale. I need to run to make sense of this. What are the chances Graham will let me take a few laps around the grounds?

I open the bathroom door and let the steam out ahead of me. The room is empty. On the bed is a selection of t-shirts and jumpers, all grey or black and all designed for function over style. No designer labels here. Mary Margaret would be appalled.

Mary Margaret.

Killian must be back at the bungalow by now, probably tearing David a new one for letting me leave. Not that he could have stopped me.

I put on two t-shirts and a long-sleeved shirt and feel more grounded. I go to the window. The sky is almost completely dark now and hanging lamps have come on around the piazza. Shadowy figures hurry along the cloister. The need to be moving is almost unbearable. I can't run, so I pace, flipping the bird to the camera in the corner, once or twice.

All right, so what do I know? I make a mental list.

I'm the bastard child of a fallen angel.

I used to live here.

Liam left a decade ago and I stayed; we stopped talking as a result.

Something happened a year ago and we made up.

We didn't tell anyone what it was that ended our rift.

We went missing together, presumed dead.

I survived and someone wiped my memory.

I pass by the window, see my reflection in the dark glass, my nervous pacing.

Let's say Liam and I somehow found the Fallen. It makes sense they would wipe my memories. But why would they give me the fake life I remember? Whoever altered my memory wanted me to remember Liam. Wanted me to think I had some resemblance of a normal life. That I was okay with not being raised my parents, that Liam was enough. They made sure I grieved deeply for my brother.

Why?

Steam drifts out of the bathroom and I go over to shut the door. Someone's standing on the bath mat.

'Fuck!'

'Sorry,' Lily says. 'You okay?'

My heart thumps again and then settles. She's injured. Her cheek is bruised and her top lip is swollen and split.

'Me? What happened to you?'

She shrugs with one shoulder. 'I went to see you without permission.'

'Today?'

'No, on Sunday.'

'How did they find out?'

A half-smile. 'You rang.' Her long dark hair is tucked behind her ears. Her skin is even paler than when we met at the castle.

'Shit.' I'd forgotten all about my panicked call a few hours ago. 'Sorry.' I glance up at the camera, step into the bathroom. 'You know I'm being watched, right?'

She smiles and then winces. 'Everyone's in a briefing right now.'

'Why aren't you there?'

'I don't get to know what's going on—at least for a day or so.' She closes the toilet lid and sits on it. 'But just to be on the safe side, I'll stay in here.'

'Do you know where Mary Margaret is?' I ask.

'Sorry, I don't.'

I want to believe her.

'I had an argument with Regina over what happened the first time she went to see you, so there was no way she was telling me the plans today. Nobody thinks I can be impartial.' She sighs. 'Sorry I couldn't answer your call. Graham was handing out surveillance jobs when you rang. I turned it off as soon as I saw it was a new number, but he doesn't miss a trick. He asked to borrow my phone as I was heading out. Nobody says no to Graham.'

'Did he do that?' I gesture to her lip and cheek.

She touches her face. 'No, That was someone else. But only after I busted the guys nose.'

'Excellent. I smashed Robin's balls.'

Lily's brown eyes light up. 'Why?'

'He tried to drown me.'

'What?'

I tell her about the bathroom session.

'Graham let that happen?' She's studying me, a frown appearing on her face. 'Why did you agree to come with him?'

'He let me believe Mary Margaret was here.' I'm embarrassed at how easily he manipulated me.

'Ah, well, there's a reason he's one of the Five.'

'So, it's not just because of his perfect hair and three piece suit? It's a wonder he's got time to do anything that doesn't involve a mirror.'

Lily snorts. It's not a delicate sound. 'Ow,' she says, and presses her fingers to her lip, trying not to laugh. 'Oh, I like the new you.'

'Yeah?' I don't mean to sound so hopeful.

She manages a lopsided smile. 'It's just…you're seeing everything with fresh eyes.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well…' She pauses. 'Graham likes to look sharp. Everyone knows that. But nobody makes jokes about it. Especially you.'

'Why not?'

'Well, for a start, you two only broke up a little while before you disappeared.'

I blink. And gape.

'He didn't tell you?'

I shake my head. Parts of our earlier conversation make a lot more sense. 'He asked me if I'd slept with Killian.'

'I hope you said yes, even if it's not true.'

'No, and no.' I say. 'Graham says I'm the only Rephaite woman Killian hasn't slept with.'

She shrugs. 'True enough, but that's Killian.'

'So you've been with him?' The question's out before I even know I want to ask it.

'Yeah, but it was a hundred years ago. We were teenagers. Actual teenagers. I was one of his earlier conquests.' A small smile. 'Not one of my prouder moments, but he wasn't such a cocky bastard back then.'

I really shouldn't care about any of this, but…'How did he and I get along?'

'That's complicated.' A frown. 'You and Killian were always our best fighters—when everyone was still together. You led every major operation, and no one went into even a bar fight without one or both of you.'

'Why didn't I sleep with him, then?'

'I don't know. On principle? He was Liam's best friend. And of course he's a prize smartarse. You two fought with each other almost as much as you fought beside each other, but it was never anything serious. Until Milah came along.'

I'm so sick of that name. 'What's her story?'

'She managed to make it on her own for nearly a hundred and thirty years before Rumplestiltskin tracked her down. She wasn't a big fan of our way of life here. Too many rules. Plus, she wanted to be one of the Five. Rephaim have waited decades for that chance, and she just waltzes on in and wants to run the place. When she worked out how long she'd have to wait, she stirred up a lot of trouble, questioning Rumplestiltskin and telling us we should think for ourselves. Anyway, she finally left, and took twenty-two of our best fighters with her.'

'Including Liam and Killian.'

'Killian didn't exactly follow with his brain—big surprise there. Liam followed Killian, and everyone else followed Liam.'

I pick up a damp towel, toss it on the edge of the bath. 'Were Liam and Graham friends?'

'They were civil to each other, at least until Graham became interested in you. Then it all went bad.'

'How come?'

'Liam didn't like how you were when you were around Graham.'

I wrap my arms around my knees. I'm not sure I want to know what that means.

'They were never buddies, even when we were kids,' Lily continues. 'Graham was always a bit threatened. Liam could have been one of the Five in a heartbeat if he'd wanted it, but he stayed on the frontline with us.' She straightens the bath mat. 'Everything changed after Hurricane Milah.'

I glance back at the camera. I hope that briefing is still going. 'Can you take me to Storybrooke?'

She looks down at the empty bath. 'I can't. They'll know it was me.'

I push down my frustration.

'I'll figure something out,' she says. 'I know I've said that before…'

'Thanks.' I gesture to her face. 'How come you're still injured?'

She wrinkles her nose. 'No one's allowed to shift with me at the moment.' She checks her watch and stands up. 'I'd better get out of here.'

I nod, and get to my feet too. 'Thanks, you know, for coming.'

Lily catches sight of herself in the mirror and probes her bruised cheek until she winces. 'My pleasure. Em—' She turns to me. 'Trust your body. You might not remember how to fight, but I don't believe Graham's theory that your body's forgotten.' She cracks her neck. 'And Emma?'

'Yeah?'

'Fight hard, because we will keep hurting you.'

And then she's gone. All the warmth in the bathroom leaves with her.


	14. Chapter 14

HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT?

My stomach growls. I haven't eaten for hours. I'm staring out the window, not seeing anything. I'm thinking about my parents. Not the selfish bastards who abandoned Liam and I, but the two people who gave Liam and me life: a woman from another place and time, and a fallen angel.

Did she know what he was? Was it the best night of her life, or did it just leave her knocked up without a husband? There weren't too many places on the planet last century where being a single mother was a good thing. And did her life slip away giving birth, or did she somehow survive, like David's mother? And if she survived, what made her give up her babies when Rumplestiltskin came calling? Was she scared? I almost can't bear to think about her.

I stare at my reflection in the window. Do I look like her? Do we have the same cheekbones? The same green eyes? Am I like her in other ways? Even if I remember who I used to be, I'll never know. If she survived Rumplestiltskin's visit, she's still been dead for a century.

I almost hope she didn't care about Liam and me. I could bear that. But a mother who loved me, who lived a life searching for me—or who died protecting me… My throat closes over and I shut my eyes. A tear still slips out.

What about my father? I try to imagine him. I can't.

Does he know I exist? Do any of the Fallen know they left behind a legacy of bastards now hell-bent on destroying them?

My breath fogs up the window and I use my finger to draw a crescent moon. It fades almost instantly. All I have to do is remember. Then Mary Margaret is safe. Then at least some of these questions will have answers.

There's a knock on the door. I tense, ready for anything, but it's only Graham carrying a tray of food. My traitor stomach greets him with enthusiasm.

'Is that drugged too?'

Graham has changed into a fresh shirt, less dressy than before, but still crisp. He puts the tray on the desk. The plate is covered with a stainless steel cloche, like in a hotel. There's a sealed bottle of water beside it and some thin breadsticks.

'Your food is fine.' He sits on the edge of the bed and gestures for me to eat at the desk.

I don't move.

He lets out the smallest of sighs. 'Opening your mind that way didn't work, so there's no point trying it again.'

'Who opened my mind?'

'Rumplestiltskin.'

I swallow. 'He was here? He can read minds?'

'Rumplestiltskin can see into our thoughts if we submit ourselves to him.'

'Or if we're off our face.' I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. 'What did he see?'

'Memories of a life you never lived.'

'No shit.'

The room now smells like cheese and mushrooms—and my stomach rumbles again.

'Eat your dinner before it goes cold.'

The benefits of a full stomach outweigh the fear of being drugged again. I lift the lid. Risotto. It looks plain enough, just mushrooms and onions, stirred through with parmesan, but when I taste it…

'This is pretty good.'

'It's the truffle oil.'

I don't get it. One minute they're drowning me and the next cooking me gourmet meals. Must be some kind of Rephaite interrogation method. I pick up the pace. The meal could be ripped away before I finish it. Or I could.

'Good god, you even eat like him now.'

Graham is watching me, fascinated.

'Who?'

'Your brother.'

The Liam I remember loved food, but he rarely lingered over it. Apparently the real Liam wasn't all that different. I lick my fork and smile.

Graham clears his throat. I look over at him, but keep eating.

'What does Killian want with you?' he asks.

It's oddly satisfying, how much he hates acknowledging I've been with Killian.

'He wants what you want. To know how Liam died.' I don't tell him Killian's theory that Liam might still be alive, but it must have crossed Graham's mind. I don't think too many things get past him.

'That's all?'

'Isn't that enough?'

It's not a question he answers. I scrape the last of the rice onto my fork and try to make my deal. 'Let's assume my old memories are never coming back. You must have a plan B?'

He doesn't answer, so I keep going. 'Why can't you treat me like I'm another long-lost Rephaite? If you let Mary Margaret go, I'll stay. Train me.'

I'll stay until I learn to shift.

'No.'

'Why not?'

He sighs and wets his lower lip with his tongue. If he didn't have such a huge stick up his arse it might be sexy. 'Because we have to know what happened.'

'But if you retrain me, that other life might come back. I might remember.'

'We don't have time, Emma. It might be too late. You and your brother could have already changed the course of history.'

'How could we have possibly done that?'

'If you found the Fallen and made some pact with them it will condemn us all.'

I scowl at him. Everything is so freaking life and death with these people.

'Maybe we just wanted to find our father, ask for child support, and move on with our lives.'

Graham stands up, but not before I see a muscle twitch in his jaw. 'You need your memory back for no other reason than to stop this childish behaviour.'

I wrench the cap off the water and take a long drink. I belch, as childishly as I can, and then meet Graham's gaze. 'When do I meet your precious Rumple?'

He scoffs, forgetting himself for a second. 'You have to earn that right.'

'Or be unconscious.'

Graham drums his fingers against his thighs. I've pushed him too far.

'Have you finished eating?'

'Why?'

'Because your times up.'

READY OR NOT

Graham signals to the camera, and Regina and Robin materialise about two seconds later. I'm already scrambling for the window in slow motion, like I'm running underwater. How much would falling three storeys hurt? But they're already between me and freedom.

I get a flash of Killian standing on the landing outside the apartment. I mimic him, his air, his confidence. I flex my fingers and raise my eyebrows at Regina and Robin.

They falter.

And then they remember I'm harmless.

It takes them all of ten seconds to contain me. Regina pins my wrists behind me and Robin's fingers dig into my neck as he pushes me forward.

I struggle against them. 'You'd better hope I don't get my memory back.'

'No, Emma, you'd better hope you don't.' Regina jerks my arms up behind me. It hurts like hell. 'When the truth comes out, you're going to die. For real this time.' Her voice is low so Graham can't hear her trash-talking.

We're in the hallway, more beige carpet, acres of it. We reach a tiny lift and only the three of us squeeze into it. Graham is gone. The lift groans and jerks, then starts down, slowly. I close my eyes. Would Liam be going through this if he'd survived instead of me? What would he do if he was here in my place?

The lift shudders then stops. The temperature has dropped a couple of degrees. We must be underground. Robin and Regina frogmarch me down a dim passage. The walls are stone and the floor is bare concrete. Fluorescent lights sheathed in wire punctuate the low ceiling, and the place smells old and dank. We pass through two sets of iron gates before we reach a solid door. It's green and mottled, like tarnished bronze. Robin yanks me to a standstill. He presses a buzzer and looks up. Another camera. A few seconds later, electronic bolts slide back. What do they have down here that needs this level of security?

The door swings open, slowly, like it weighs a tonne. My pulse thuds in my temples. Robin shoves me forward into a cavernous gymnasium. Before me, punching bags hang from long chains that are bolted to the high ceiling. There are two makeshift boxing rings, and weights and barbells scattered around the floor. But what takes the air from my lungs is the room's centrepiece.

It's a cage.

A towering, fully enclosed steel cage, made of chainlink wire, with sawdust on the floor, linked by a walkway to another heavy-duty bronze door. It looks like it belongs in a back alley in Bangkok. Bile rises in my throat.

Please don't let me be going in there.

The door behind me closes, and the electronic bolts slide back.

There's no one else here. But from the stench of sweat hanging in the air, it hasn't been empty long. Robin propels me across the stone floor, towards the cage, my wrists still pinned behind my back. I struggle against him.

'I wouldn't waste any more energy if I was you,' he says.

Regina's already at the cage. She throws open the door, her sleek black ponytail swishing behind her. She gestures for me to step inside.

'No fucking way.' I dig in my heels. But we're close enough now that it only takes a rough shove and I'm in the cage. I hit the sawdust on my hands and knees.

Regina grins and snaps a padlock over the bolt. 'Don't blame me. You got yourself into this.'

I fling a handful of sawdust at her. As she's flicking it out of her hair, her attention locks on to something behind me. 'Oh, come on.'

I look over my shoulder. Lily is standing there, carrying a sword, her face still bruised and busted, her hair pinned back from her face.

'You don't think I'm letting her face this alone, do you?' She gives me a quick nod.

'Get out of the cage, Lily.' Regina says, her tone flat.

'She'll get torn up in here on her own.'

'Or her instincts will kick in.'

'You haven't even given her a weapon.'

'We will. So get out. Now.'

Lily spins the sword in her hand. She looks dangerous. 'Make me.'

Regina's face lights up and she reaches down for something at her feet.

'Stop!'

Regina freezes. Graham crosses the floor from the other side of the gym.

'Enough,' he says, his voice tight. 'Regina, stay where you are.' He looks into the cage, avoiding eye contact with me. 'Lily, get out of there.'

There's no mistaking his tone for anything other than a command, but Lily holds her ground. 'Graham, this is wrong.'

His face is pinched. 'It is what it is.'

'But does it have to be this?'

I'm turning from one to the other as they speak.

'I'm not asking again.' Graham says.

She holds his gaze for a few long seconds, and then her shoulders drop and I know I'm on my own. 'Sorry, Em.' she says quietly, and disappears.

My eyes linger on the imprint of her boots in the sawdust.

'But I'm not leaving the room.' she says behind me. She's on the opposite side of the cage to Graham, Regina and Robin, her fingers hooked through the wire.

Graham pretends not to hear. He nods at a camera across the room. A signal. All this time I've been crouched down, so I stand up on shaky legs and face the only other access point to the cage: the bronze door at the end of the walkway. It groans and slides open.

Something thuds at my feet, and I flinch. A sword.

Its blade is long and slightly curved, like Lily's—and the one in my dream.

I try to shake the tension from my limbs. The bronze door is fully open now, but there's only darkness on the other side. I test the weight of the sword. It's lighter than I thought it would be. The leather hilt feels vaguely familiar against my palm. I've dreamed about fighting with a sword like this almost every night for a year. I know how to grip it, maybe even how to use it. For a heartbeat, I think I might be okay.

And then I see what shuffles out of the darkness into the cage.

LIKE RIDING A BIKE

It's a hellion.

With yellow eyes and leathery skin. A head disfigured by lumps. Long muscular arms and bony fingers, talons for fingernails. It's more than seven-foot tall.

And it's so much more terrifying that those in my dream.

The hellion stops a few steps beyond the door. Its thick nostrils flare. It smells me.

My legs dissolve. Somehow I keep my feet.

'Just take the head,' Lily says quietly from outside the cage.

I give a short, hysterical laugh. I can't swallow.

The hellion's misshapen ears prick up at the sound of my voice. It gives a deep, throaty snarl, baring long teeth.

I stagger back against the wire mesh of the cage, my heart hammering against my ribs.

'You have the advantage.' Lily says. 'It's unarmed.'

I'm still staring at those teeth, unconvinced.

'Didn't Killian teach you anything?'

I shake my head, afraid to take my eyes off it. 'Can it shift?'

'Not without help. It's one of The Shadow's brainless foot soldiers. Be glad it's not a demon.'

I don't care that I don't know who, or what The Shadow is, or that there's a difference between hellions and demons. I'm too busy remembering to breathe.

The hellion is taking in Lily, Robin, Regina and Graham. It's not quite as brainless as Lily wants me to believe. Those yellow eyes fix on me again and my breath shortens. The stench of sweat and sawdust is choking me.

'Don't get pinned against the cage.' Lily nudges me through the wire. 'Always have room to move.'

The hellion snarls again, louder this time. I turn side-on and grip the sword with both hands. I inch towards the middle of the cage, blood rushing in my ears.

The hellion lowers its head and charges.

The floor vibrates as it thunders towards me. I raise the tip of the sword.

Oh, fuck. I roll my wrists and sweep the blade back and forth through the air. It's halfway across the cage.

What did I do in the dream? It's almost on me. Come on, come on…think…And then I remember.

I throw myself sideways, at the same time slashing at its heel. The blade finds flesh, and it takes all my strength to hang on to the hilt as the hellion stumbles, roaring in pain. My knees hit the hard floor. I pull back on the blade. It comes free, along with a gush of thick, dark fluid. The hellion hits the chain wire, and spins around, snarling. It tests its injured foot, throws its head back and roars again.

I'm on my feet. If I can hamstring the other leg, force the hellion to its knees, maybe I can take its head off. I flinch. Who am I kidding? Take its head off? I can't even set a mousetrap.

It snarls. And charges again.

I will myself to stand still. Wait…Wait… Now. I dive to the left. As soon as my feet leave the ground, a searing pain rips along my side. I bury the blade in its thigh before I meet the sawdust. This time, though, I can't hold on to it.

The ground shakes when the hellion falls. I try to sit up, but my body hurts like the hellion's claws are still in me. I probe below my ribs. Everything there is wet and torn.

Unarmed, my arse.

We both lie there, me whimpering and it snarling. And then the hellion wrenches the blade out of its leg and hurls it across the cage. It may as well be in the next room for all the chance I have of getting to it. My limbs are lead and every old injury hurts. My leg, my ribs, even the wound on the back of my neck. All throbbing in time with my heart.

'Get the sword!' Lily yells at me. Her voice is strange, distant.

The hellion is sitting up now, slumped against the side of the cage, watching me. Dark blood pools in the sawdust around its legs. Its slashed pants are soaked. I haven't done nearly enough damage to stop this thing.

I press both hands against my injured side. I'll pass out in a minute if I don't stop the bleeding. I put my weight on one elbow. My breath catches. I grunt and roll onto my hands and knees. For a second, I rest my head on the sawdust, catching my breath. Then I force myself to sit up, wait till the fluorescent lights wheeling above the cage settle and still. I grab the hem of my jumper, brace myself, and pull it over my head. A few ragged, nauseated breaths later, I'm still upright. I tie the fabric as tightly as I can bear. Graham is just beyond the wire, his expression unreadable.

A snarl pulls my attention back to the hellion. It's using the chain wire to haul itself up. I have to find a way to stand. If I stay here, it's going to tear me to pieces. I'm going to die.

I swallow blood and fear, stagger to my knees. The hellion is almost upright.

The sword is lying impotently in the sawdust by the walkway. The hellion looks from me to the weapon and back. It pushes off the cage and lumbers towards me.

'RUN!' Lily screams.

I take off.

My leg jars but I keep going. The floor shakes. Nearly there, nearly there. I hear panting, right behind me. I'm not going to make it.

I dive for the sword. Pain tears at my side—I've opened the wound wider—but I get my hands around the hilt, roll over and bring up the blade. The hellion has already left the ground. Too late it sees the sword. It roars, and then lands on the blade. The steel pierces its leathery skin and slides in. It slams its hands into the sawdust either side of my head to stop its fall. I'm pinned, straining to stop the hilt driving into my chest. I twist the blade. The hellion roars, and the sound vibrates down my spine. Its face is so close I can see the veins in its skin and taste the fetid stench of its breath. Its eyes flare with pain as I twist the hilt again, but I'm fast losing feeling in my arms. If the hellion collapses, its weight is going to crush me.

I'm screwed.

My arms are pinned, the hellion's are free, and it's just worked that out. Holding its weight on one hand, it grabs a handful of my hair and reefs my head so my neck is bared. I scream, but the weight on my chest holds all sound. Where is everyone? Do they want me to die?

Razor-sharp teeth puncture the skin above my collarbone. White spots flare across my vision. I'm frozen, waiting for the hellion to rip flesh from me. But it's not tearing at me. It's…drinking.

The bars on the cage blur together.

My blood is pumping into its mouth. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

And, oh god, it hurts.

I close my eyes.

I'm not human. I'm not human. I'm the offspring of an angel. The pulling at my throat. The sound of it. My blood. Nothing from hell should ever be free to feed from me. What makes me Rephaite? My blood.

Is the hellion feeding on me for strength?

But it's mine.

Warm blood runs down my neck and soaks into my shirt. I can't feel the wound on my side now. My fingers are numb.

Focus.

I picture my heart, pumping Rephaite blood through my limbs. It has to be powerful. I'm meant to be immortal. I need it to pump harder.

Heat spreads across my chest. Adrenaline.

It courses through me.

I tighten my grip on the sword hilt, feel my fingers again, and imagine drawing all that energy into my shoulders. I twist the blade. The hellion unclamps its teeth to snarl. I shove it as hard as I can, with everything I have.

It lands next to me on its back. I don't know who's more surprised: it or me. But I recover first. I spring to my feet and jerk the gore-soaked blade from its gut. The hellion convulses as it comes free.

I swing the sword hard and fast.

The blade slices through the hellion's neck—through flesh, muscle, tendon and vertebrae. It's impossible. No way am I strong enough to do that. But the hellion's head is no longer attached to its body. Dark blood gushes onto the sawdust. A couple of fingers on the beast's left hand twitch, and its legs spasm. And then…nothing.

I drop the sword and turn away. My body burns. For the moment the adrenaline is stronger than the pain. I face my audience. Graham is watching me, his expression still unreadable. Regina and Robin have stepped back from the cage.

'Em?'

I look across to find Lily, her eyes hopeful. The pain is rushing back now, filling me.

'Sorry,' I say to her. 'Just me.'

And then her face and the wire diamonds of the cage are spinning. I pass out before I hit the sawdust.

Thoughts and reviews welcome


	15. Chapter 15

DROWNING

I fade in and out. I'm rolled onto a stretcher and carried from the cage. I catch pieces of conversation.

'Just let me shift with her.' Lily's voice, tight and angry.

'No.' Definitely Graham.

'But she'll take weeks to heal from these injuries. I don't understand why you're being so—'

'Lily, go to your quarters and stay there until you're summoned.'

If Lily argues with him, I miss it, because I pass out again.

When I next come to, I smell antiseptic. My body feels cased in cement and the skin on my neck stings like a bastard. Even through closed eyes I can tell the room is brightly lit.

'I'll guard her.'

'No, Regina, you go.' Graham's voice is close. 'Tell the Council I'll be there shortly.'

'But there are no cameras in here. What if—'

'Emma isn't going anywhere.'

'But Lily—'

'Won't disobey an order.'

Any further exchange is silent. The air beside me stirs. Regina is gone. The only sound now is the faint buzzing of a fluorescent light. Graham must be alone.

Fingers gently move hair out of my eyes. Graham sighs. 'I wish I knew what you did.'

I don't have the strength to move my head away.

'I just…I can't take the risk.' He strokes my cheek with the back of his finger, slowly, softly. 'If you really betrayed us, and I show you mercy…' Another sigh, and then the touch is gone. A door opens and closes. As usual, Graham leaves the old-fashioned way. Maybe shifting creases his shirts.

I prise open my eyes. I'm in a treatment room. Stark white. Clinical. I touch my side, gingerly, to find that the jumper's gone and the wound is bandaged. There's a dressing taped over the bite on my neck. The pricks haven't even given me fresh clothing. I'm sticky with my own congealing blood. And I stink of hellion.

There's a door across the room. A plain door, no locks or keypads. No voices or footsteps on the other side. If I can get over there…Can I even sit up? I grit my teeth, try to lift myself on my elbow. A thousand knives twist below my ribs. I whimper and sink back to the bed, wait for the waves of nausea to pass. My eyes close and I let sleep drag me back into the comfort of oblivion.

I wake with goosebumps. My aching skin tingles. I'm not alone.

'I'm sorry, dearie.'

The voice behind me is hoarse, masculine. Rumplestilskin.

I stay on my side, my pulse quickening. The air in the room is cooler now.

'This was not the path meant for you.'

I swallow loudly, letting him know I'm awake.

'Be still, Emma. Submit to me. Let me see if anything has changed.'

I should fight him. I should make this hard. But the memory comes, unbidden.

Liam and I have raced each other up a steep hill and we climb into the yellow bug soaked through, catching our breath and letting our breath fog the car.

We're in New. York. Every new place we visit becomes my favourite, but the memories of New York will last longer than some of the other places. I love the cold, the pizza, skating on the ice rink with Liam in the park. We've spent the last few days trekking through lane ways and backstreets, sifting through stores selling various goods, and taking cheesy snaps at tourist locations.

Liam starts the car and we join the sea of traffic, slowly sifting through the city. Liam's quiet for a while, thinking.

'Don't think too hard. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself,' I say.

He gives me a playful shove.

'What are you thinking about?'

'Nothing much.'

We've been backpacking for over a year now, and lately he's been drifting in and out of melancholy.

'Are you thinking about home?' It's not something we talk about, but here, today, sitting in the car together, it seems okay to.

'It wasn't our home.' he says flatly. 'You are my home Emma, you know that.' I smile knowing he means every word and I feel the same. We are each other's home.

He turns to me. His brown eyes study me closely. 'Have you got any regrets?'

I answer without hesitation. 'No.'

'None?'

'No Liam. I don't know how we survived all those years suffocating in the orphanage, but now we're living.'

I creek the window down and a gust of wet, icy wind lifts the hair from his face. 'You know I'll always look out for you, right?'

He's never said anything like that before. I've always known how protective he is of me, but it's another one of those things we don't talk about, at least not very often.

'Likewise,' I say. 'Even when you don't want me to.'

He grins. His smile fades. 'Seriously, though. I know I let you down sometimes, but never doubt you mean more to me than anything else in the world.'

I nod, not speaking. The feeling in my chest is so big I can't name it.

'I'd die for you, you know.' His voice is quiet. I barely catch the words.

'Liam…' I stop. Swallow. 'What's going on?'

'I just want to make sure you know that.'

I find his hand and lace my fingers through it while he uses the other to steer us in the right direction. He is so strong, so permanent. I can't imagine life without him. I don't want to imagine it.

'I've always known that,' I say.

'Whatever happens, don't forget it.'

'I won't.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.'

It ends abruptly. A tear slides over my nose.

'Impossible. Emma, did you meet Semyaza? Did he do this?'

I don't answer because I'm too busy clinging to this memory of my brother. I know it's not real but I don't care. The weight of what I feel for Liam, these fabricated memories, they must be based on something.

'It cannot be Semyaza.' Rumple is talking to himself. 'Too much power involved.'

I want to see him. I know it's going to hurt, but I roll onto my back. A low moan escapes my lips, and in the moment it takes to absorb the agony, Rumplestiltskin disappears. There's a flash of blue-white light and then there's just me, and the empty room.

I close my eyes as the air in the room stirs again.

'Leave me alone,' I whisper.

'Ah, bloody hell Swan.'

I know that voice, but I open my eyes, just to be sure.

Killian.

He stands there, taking in the wreckage. A muscle twitches in his jaw. 'I thought she was exaggerating. What the hell were they thinking?' His voice cracks. 'Hey, hey… Don't cry.'

Through my tears, I see he's not alone.

David is hiding under sunglasses and a bucket hat. It covers his hair and blocks out most of his features

'Is Mary Margaret here?'

I shake my head. I know his presence is significant, but I can't grasp why.

'You done with this place?' Killian asks.

'I'm sorry I didn't—'

'Just tell me I can take you out of here.'

I answer by trying to sit up. His arms come around me, taking my weight. 'Slow down or you'll do more damage.'

'I don't care,' I whisper.

Killian lifts me off the bed and David steps in to take the weight of my legs.

'Just like we talked about,' Killian says to him. 'Ready?'

The door swings open and Graham walks through. He stops in his tracks. 'You…'

Killian tenses. I feel him hesitate. Oh, please, no.

But before Graham can gather himself, the room disappears, and the only noise is rushing wind.

WAKE ME WHEN THIS IS OVER

I feel it this time, the sense of being stretched and compressed. I bury my face in Killian's chest, and smell the sea on him.

It's all over in seconds, and then Killian is laying me on a couch, in a dark room that smells of old dust and smoke. We're back on Patmos. The fire's already lit, and blankets are piled up on the floor beside the couch. Killian covers me and puts a pillow under my head.

'This is why I didn't want you to go there,' he says, straightening the end of the blanket. The effort of healing my wounds hasn't burned off his anger.

I sink deeper into the pillow. 'Can we argue about this later?'

He doesn't answer, but the line of his mouth softens.

'Where's David?' I ask.

'Over here.'

He's leaning against the wall, bathed in firelight. The hat is gone alongs with his sunglasses, sandy blonde hair stinking out at odd angles.

'Get some sleep,' Killian says to him. 'You look like you're about to pass out.'

David crosses the room and crouches so his face is level with mine. 'Are you okay?'

My body still aches, but it's nothing compared to a minute ago. 'I'll live. You?'

'I'll be better when we get Mary Margaret back. Was she there, at the Sanctuary?'

'No. I don't think she ever was.'

He glances at my bandaged neck. 'Would they do this to her?'

'Why would they?' She's not one of them. She's not me.

'Who knows what they're capable of.' David runs a hand over his face. He's tired and agitated, and won't look at Killian.

I glance from one to the other, and the pieces fall together. 'You told him.'

'It seemed wrong not to, under the circumstances.'

Killian sits on the arm at the other end of the couch.

'What happened?' I ask him.

'Dave found Lily's number in my phone and rang her while I was out of the room.'

'There was no answer,' David says. 'I didn't leave a message, but she rang back anyway.'

'She didn't know it was my number,' Killian says, 'but when she got me, she told me what happened in the cage. She didn't exactly suggest I come get you, but she let me know where you were, and when you'd be unguarded.' He unlaces his boots. 'I didn't know if she was lying about the hellion, but there's no way I could heal you on my own if you'd been drained. I was about to call for back-up when your buddy here dropped his little bombshell.'

David stands up. 'I need to sleep. Have you got another pillow?'

'Try the second door on the right,' Killian says. 'The bed's made if you want it. And Dave?' David pauses at the door. 'I'm not finished with you.'

David disappears into the shadows. Somewhere in the dark, a door opens and closes and then bedsprings squeak.

'I only found out tonight,' I say. 'He told me about two minutes before Graham turned up.'

I instantly regret mentioning Graham's visit. I don't want to have that conversation. 'Lily got in the cage with me,' I say. 'Did she tell you that?'

Killian kicks his boots off. 'Lily said you fought that hell-turd on your own.' He doesn't look at me.

'I did.' There's a small, belated spark of pride. 'Actually, Lily got in the cage but Graham ordered her out. She stood her ground for all of a minute, and then left me in there on my own.'

Killian shrugs. 'That's what happens at the Sanctuary. Everyone obeys. You used to be like that.'

'Bullshit.'

He shakes his head. 'You have no idea how ironic this is.'

'But she just caved in. I don't get it. What's the worst thing that could have happened?'

'If you disobey one of the Five? You get cut off.'

'Cut off from what?'

'From Rumple. From your family. Not everyone's in a hurry to get kicked out of home.'

'You left. So did Liam.'

'Yeah, but we all paid a price.'

As usual, everything he tells me about the Rephaim brings more questions, but I'm too tired to ask them.

Killian yawns. 'Got room for me under there?'

I roll onto my side so there's space for him at the back of the couch. He gets under the blanket and eases me back to where I was so he can look at me. There are dark circles under his eyes.

'You're a mess,' I say.

He laughs. 'You can talk. You stink like a hell-turd.'

'I know. It's revolting.'

'We'll get you cleaned up in the morning.' He touches the dressing on my neck. 'The Five must be desperate, to let a hellion feed on you. I can't believe Pretty Boy stood there and watched.' He runs his thumb along my collarbone, almost absently. 'And you cut its head off?'

I flinch at the memory. 'Yeah.'

'So you still know how to swing a sword.'

'I just remembered what I dreamed.'

'It takes a lot of strength to cut through a neck that thick.'

I have no idea how to describe what happened when that thing drank from me. 'I had a moment.'

'A moment?'

'A burst of strength. It lasted long enough to save me. Then it went.'

'You haven't felt it since?'

'If I had, Graham wouldn't still be in possession of his balls.'

'Now that I'd like to see.' He gives me a long look that I can't quite read, and then settles down behind me.

'Thanks for coming for me,' I say, quietly.

He tightens the blankets around us. 'I should have done a better job of convincing you not to go there.'

'Is that an apology?'

His lips move against my ear. 'As close to one as you're getting at this hour. Now, stop talking and go to sleep.'

'Hiding out here isn't getting Mary Margaret back.'

'Neither is shifting when you're shattered.'

I'm alone on the couch. Killian and David are talking quietly in the room. It's still dark and the fire is down to embers.

'I'm fine,' David says.

'You won't be when we shift with Swan again. Hellion bites are hard work. What is it with you and Mary Margaret? You've known her for, what, five minutes?'

'No shorter than you've known Emma, and don't tell me you weren't torn up two hours ago.'

'That's different. We've got a century or so of history.'

'Not anymore, you don't.'

Killian ignores him. 'You're one of us, so I get why Mary Margaret is so into you—humans can't help themselves. But what's up with you? I mean, she's pretty, but so are a thousand other women.'

'How many women do you know who could see and hear what she has in the last few days and be cool with it?'

'Is that it? You've been waiting to find that special girl who can cope with the fact you're not human?'

A sigh. 'Yeah, well, we're not all walking cocks.'

'God, Rumple's going to love you.'

'That'll be hard, given he's never going to have the chance. I have no intention of joining him—or anyone else.'

'Is that right?' The fire spits and hisses. 'You're going to crawl back to that rock you've been hiding under all these years?'

'We're not talking about any of this until Mary Margaret is safe.'

It takes some effort, but I sit up. 'What time is it at home?'

A green light radiates from David's wrist as he checks his watch. 'About seven in the morning.'

My shirt is stiff with dried blood. I stand up. 'So, I can't be forced to shift, even if I'm sleeping? You said if you were unconscious…'

'I didn't mean asleep. If someone grabbed you, you'd wake up. Unconscious as in knocked out.'

'Then there's no reason we can't go home.'

'Apart from Regina turning up and kicking the shit out of you again.'

I touch the bandage on my neck. The wound is tender, but it doesn't feel like the skin is broken anymore. 'I'm hoping you might stop that from happening.'

'Oh, you want my help now?'

I wish I could see his face. I can't read his mood from his voice alone. 'Yes.'

'Please tell me this isn't about your job at the animal shelter.'

'I don't work Tuesdays.' I run my fingers through my hair and don't get far. 'But we're not going to find out where Mary Margaret is unless we go back to Storybrooke. Graham has to negotiate now, and to do that he has to be able to find me. And Mary Margaret is due to start work in an hour or so.'

Killian moves closer. 'So?'

'Her mum will come looking for her if she doesn't show, so will the other teachers if her kids get free, they're a handful. Mary Margaret never misses a day of school, not since her dad died, and there's no way I'm telling Eva her only child is missing. I'll have to get someone to sub for her.'

'Will that work?' It's David who asks the question.

'It'll have to.'

JUST ASKING

'Your place or Killian's?' David asks.

The fire is completely out and we're ready to go.

'Mine,' I say.

'Which room?'

'It doesn't matter.' Killian takes me by the elbow. 'I'll look after that. You worry about healing her. I can manage both, but you don't have the skill.'

As he has every time, Killian pulls me to him and, almost out of habit, I slide my arms around him. We shift to the bathroom at the apartment, to the smell of shampoo and Mary Margaret's perfume. The room settles around us, and the sound of the ocean replaces the wind.

Home.

David looks at me, and slips away.

I lean against Killian while the feeling comes back into my body.

'Swan,' he says, and swallows. 'It's okay. Please don't cry.'

'I'm not.' I brush my face against his shirt.

He rubs my back, sighs. 'You never used to do this, you know.'

'What, I didn't cry?'

'Not in front of me.'

I'm still hanging on to him. His hand settles in the small of my back.

'You never cared this much about people either, apart from Liam.'

I look up at him. 'What do you mean?'

'It usually took you a decade or so before you decided you liked someone, let alone got close to them.'

'Yeah, well, I'm not that person. I'm not the Swan you remember.'

He raises his eyebrows at me.

'Okay, so maybe I don't make friends as easily as some people. But with Mary Margaret, it's different. We just clicked. It's like I've known her forever.' I rub my eyes, weary again. 'How was the shift? Easier that time?'

He nods. 'You feel just about mended. But you've ruined my shirt.'

I look down and see the material is flecked with dried blood. 'You're the one who insists on keeping me close.'

His lips twitch and he stands back to get a better look at me. All traces of playfulness disappear. 'Let me see.' He reaches for the hem of my ruined shirt, but waits for me to nod before lifting it. He examines the dressing and then sits on the edge of the bath. I hold up the tattered fabric as he carefully removes the bandages from my side.

'That doesn't look too bad.' He runs his fingertips lightly over the wound. The claw marks have healed closed, and black sutures stick out of the puckered flesh. Killian takes tweezers and small scissors from a chipped mug on the sink. 'This'll feel weird, but it won't hurt.'

'I've had stitches before.'

He glances up.

'From the accident.'

'Oh, yeah.' He works quickly and soon has them out. 'Sixteen.' He holds out his palm to show me. 'Let me see your neck.'

Again he peels off the bandages with studied care. How many times has he done this over the years? How many times has he done it for me?

He makes a small noise of disapproval. 'This is going to scar pretty bad.'

I touch the spot above my collarbone where the hellion fed from me. I can't make sense of what I feel, so I go to the mirror. It looks like I've been bitten by a shark—a small shark with two rows of sharp teeth. The yellow bruise has two arcs of punctures, all of them closed over but still red and angry.

'I guess I should be glad it didn't bite through.' I join the dots with my fingertip, completing the circle.

Killian comes up behind me. 'It'll fade. Just be grateful you have your hair to cover it.'

Like my hair doesn't already have a big enough job covering that other monstrosity on my neck.

'I need a shower.'

'You really do.' Killian gives me a half-smile in the mirror. 'You want a hand?'

'I'll be fine.'

He doesn't move. Is he going to touch me again?

'I hear you've been with every Rephaite in a skirt.'

Crap. Where did that come from?

'Who told you that?' His smile shifts into something less amused. 'Graham. Who else? The prick.'

'Is he a liar?'

Killian leans against the pale wall. 'I haven't been with everyone.'

'What about Regina?'

'Hell, no. I'm no monk, but I have standards.'

I wonder what else Graham was wrong about. 'What about me?'

Killians teasing smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. 'You had standards too.'

I turn away so he can't see the heat climbing my cheeks. 'I won't be long. See you in the kitchen.'

I wait until I hear the door shut but still turn to check he's on the other side of it. Then I peel off my clothes and throw them in the corner, for burning at the first opportunity. The water pressure is as weak as ever, but I'm okay with gentleness. I rest my head against the tiles and let its warmth wash over me. Slowly, I come back into my body again. Here, in this old bathroom, I'm more myself than at any point at the Sanctuary. The water circling down the drain finally runs clear instead of reddish-brown.

I put on another white singlet and black jeans. I find a red scarf to wear and help cover my monstrous scaring.

The guys are in the kitchen. David is reading the paper and Killian is rummaging in the fridge, pulling out our collection of almost empty jam jars. The smell of fresh toast makes my stomach rumble.

'You could have told me they keep hellions at the Sanctuary,' I say to Killian, but not with any accusation. I put the scarf aside to help butter the toast.

'I didn't know they did. It makes no sense. They're useless as prisoners because they've got the vocabulary of a warthog and the brain function of a slug, and only an idiot would use them for training.'

'Why's that?'

'It's not worth the risk. If they get a taste of one of us and manage to escape, they can track us—' His face changes. 'Son of a bitch.'

'What?'

Killian shakes his head slowly. 'That's why they let it in the cage. The Five didn't want the hell-turd to kill you, just to get a taste of you. They must have been planning to let you go, and then get it to track you, although I don't know how they thought they were going to control it.'

'But why? They have to know this is the only place I'd come.'

'They think you're going to lead them to the Fallen. But now you've gone and cut the head off their bloodhound.' He gives a short laugh and pulls toast out of the toaster and onto three plates. 'God, I wish I could've seen Pretty Boy's face.'

I try to absorb this theory. I can't.

'Why do they still want Mary Margaret?' David asks.

'They never wanted her,' Killian says. 'She's just a way to Swan.'

'Then they don't need her anymore.'

'They need her now more than ever. Your little girlfriend is the only bargaining chip they've got.'

He's right, but I don't want to think about what that means.

'Aside from Graham, who else is part of the Five?' I pick up the scarf and loop it around my neck. It won't sit the way I want it to.

'As far as I know, it's still Lancelot, Mulan, Phillip and Granny. Graham and Mulan used to be soldiers, and Phillip still goes on a few missions. Lancelot is a priest and Granny's a professor of psychology or philosophy or some such shit. Rumple likes to have all three Rephaite disciplines covered.' Killian counts them off on his fingers. 'Military, religious, academic.'

I fiddle with the scarf again. Accessories are not my thing. Mary Margaret would help me, have it sorted in no time. Even Graham would have more of an idea about how to wear a scarf than I do.

I toss it on the table.

Killian raises his eyebrows. 'I bet Dave can fix that for you.'

David snatches it up. 'It's not rocket science.' He loops the scarf over my head, twists it inside itself and turns it so it sits over the bite.

'Let me guess—a semester at fashion school?'

'I've spent a lot of time around women.'

I want to ask which women in particular, but I know he's not going to talk about his past in front of Killian.

'Did Graham get a good look at you at the Sanctuary?' I ask.

'It doesn't matter anymore. Not now I know they can't force me to shift.'

Killian shoves a plate of toast in David's direction. 'How the hell have you managed to keep a head on your shoulders all these years?'

'By keeping a low profile.'

'More like dodging responsibility.'

I sigh. 'Are you two going to bicker the whole time I'm gone?'

'What are you talking about? I'm coming with you,' Killian says.

'Me too,' David says. 'I want to be there if Regina shows up.'

'I'm only going out for an hour or so to ask someone to substitute for Mary Margaret. So we avoid any unnecessary attention. I'll be back soon.' But it's not enough and they both watch me.

I fiddle with the silk, trying to figure out how David looped it.

'Fine. What's the plan when she—or anyone else—arrives?'

David and I both look to Killian. He's picking at a spot of dried blood on his shirt.

'I'll think of something.'

I'd kind of been hoping for more than that.


	16. Chapter 16

COLOURS BLEED TOGETHER

David parks the truck outside the school. Both he and Killian get out with me.

'I know I said you could come, but just wait here while I talk to him. If the three of us turn up on his doorstep he'll freak out. Please.'

'You have ten minutes then I'm coming in there, regardless.' There's more to Killian's words, concern.

The cottage next to the school is cosy and inviting, with a silver knocker hanging on the front door. It only takes a moment for it to swing open.

'Emma, how can I help you?'

'Hey Abigail. Is Fredrick in?' She looks a little surprised to see me, especially being so early in the morning but she works hard to conceal her surprise.

'Yeah come in.' The heavily pregnant blonde moves aside and allows me to come inside. Fredrick is in the backyard setting up a soccer net, still in his dressing gown and pyjamas, slippers on his feet. He looks up at the sound of our feet on the crisp grass.

'I might leave you to it.' Abigail says as Fredrick throws down his tools and comes over.

'She's looking well.' I say looking after Abigail as Fredrick laces up his robe and I try to arrange my thoughts, my lies.

'Yeah she's doing well, they both are.'

'How long until the big day?'

'Three weeks, two days and I'm trying to not to count the hours.' His smile is so happy excited about the upcoming birth of his child. A stark contrast to my current situation, one with hope. 'But I don't think you came here to talk about my wife's pregnancy.' I wish that was why I was here not to tell more lies.

'So Emma, what can I do you for?'

'I need you to substitute for Mary Margaret at school today.' Fredrick Midas is a qualified primary teacher, along with his wife Abagail. But he prefers to spend his time outside teaching sport to youngsters. The perfect candidate to substitute for Mary Margaret.

'Why? Is everything ok?'

'Yeah it's just she's not feeling well'

'Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.'

'She just needs a day at home to rest and recuperate.'

'Why don't out just tell Eva? She is her daughter, she'll understand and find someone to take Mary's classes.'

'I know but Mary Margaret doesn't want her mum to worry.' Something she often did. 'You can just say you wanted the extra money.' Though teachers weren't exactly known for their fantastic finances.

'Please Fredrick. I wouldn't ask if there was anyone else.'

'Alright I'll do it but you and Mary Margaret owe me one.'

I nod. 'Anything you need.'

'Alright.'

'Thank You Fredrick.' I say gratefully, giving him a smile and heading back into the house to leave. My name halts me.

'Emma, Are you sure everything's alright?' Fredrick is genuinely asking which only makes me feel worse.

'Yeah, everything's fine.' I lie.

Afterwards, with David trudging behind and Killian grumbling in my ear about not liking my ideas, we go across to Granny's dinner. I need something to clear the fog from my mind and coco with cinnamon sounds as good as anything else. The door slams shut behind us and I pull up a stool at the bar. David and Killian take stools either side.

'What can I get you?' The waitress behind the bar asks, pen and paper in hand.

'I'll have a hot coco with cinnamon please.'

'And for you two gentleman?' The waitress asks looking from David to Killian with a flirty smile.

'They'll have the same.' I say quickly before either can reply and sending her on her way.

I straighten the sugar packets on the counter. A chair scrapes behind me.

Everything in here is so familiar: the smell of coffee and pastry, shelves crammed with different types of alcohol and drinks, and the forgettable music that plays all day. The coco comes. I take a sip not daring to look either side of me and suddenly the familiarity is too much.

'I'll be back in a second.' I say climbing down. One of them grabs my arm but I shake them off without looking who it is, instead running for the bathroom down the hall.

I face myself in the mirror of the green bathroom, hands on either side of the sink. I'm breathing deeply and trying not to have an emotional meltdown. Deep breaths Emma. Deep breaths.

I watch my reflection for a moment. I can't quite get my head around how old I am. But I know one thing, Storybrooke is one of the few places I know is truely real, fake memories or not, the closest thing I have to a home. How could I not come back? How could I not come back when I know the trouble I've brought here?

I check the scarf is still covering the bite and wonder if anyone's been talking about Mary Margaret's dramatic departure from the party last night. As much as I'd like to stay in the safe confines of this bathroom I know I can't.

I step into the hallway take two steps and stop. Neal is infront of me, emerging from the male bathroom.

'Hey,' I say. I shouldn't have kissed him last night. It was selfish and stupid, and it's created yet another mess I have to clean up.

'Hey.' He mumbles it more to my shoes than me. He can't even look at me. 'What are you doing here?'

'Oh…you know just getting a coco'

Neal is staring accusingly at my neck ignoring my words.

'What's under there?' He gestures to Mry Margaret's scarf. Any embarrassment he felt about last night seems to have taken a backseat to something stronger.

'Nothing,' I say, willing him to drop the subject and leave me alone before Killian or David arrive to make sure I haven't fallen in, or fled out the back door. Only he doesn't move, just looks at me curiously.

'Can we talk later?'

He blocks me so I can't get back to the cafe. 'You made me look like an idiot last night.' To his credit, his voice is low, only I can hear. 'Was I just bait to make that dickhead jealous?'

I glance around, but no one is here, the hallway is empty. 'There's stuff going on that I can't begin to explain,' I say, 'but I promise you I did not intend last night to end the way it did.' That's the understatement of the year. 'I'm really sorry for the way I left the party, but I can't talk about it here.'

I go to move past and, before I can stop him, those quick hands lift the scarf from my neck.

'Hey!' I pull away from him, but not fast enough.

'What the fuck…?' Neal's hand drops to his side.

I put the scarf back in place, and look into his eyes. Let it go.

'Did he do that?' He means Killian.

'Of course not.' I push past him, and he follows, taking my arm.

'What did that?' Neal says in my ear.

I spin around. 'Back off.'

He takes a step back, almost involuntarily.

'Emma…'

I get a flash of someone coming towards us. It's David. He glances between us, gives me a casual nod, and then disappears into the bathroom Neal just came out of. Neal's gaze follows him.

'What's he doing here without Mary Margaret?'

'They're not joined at the hip.'

'Didn't he stay at your place last night?' Neal presses.

'So? Maybe he feels like coco and he's letting Mary Margaret sleep in.' I don't tell him the lie I told Fredrick.

'What's going on?' David asks appearing again.

'Neal's seen the mark on my neck,' I say, looking at Neal.

'I see.'

'I'm not going to let this go.'

'Come with me.' I look at David suddenly afraid of what he's going to tell him.

The truth? More lies?

David leads Neal out the back door and around the front to sit at one of the round tables set out. I follow at a distance, then slip back into Granny's through the front door. Killian does a double take when he sees me. The cup on his saucer is empty as is mine. I shake my head, concentrate.

'Neal's outside.'

'So?'

'He saw my neck.'

'How the hell did that happen?'

'He grabbed this.' I lift the scarf to demonstrate.

Killian stares at me. 'You managed to decapitate a hellion, but you can't stop a barman from touching a scarf?'

'Slightly different circumstances,' I say, stung. 'David's out there trying to handle the situation.'

'Well, then, we can all rest easy. No chance that'll go pear-shaped.'

'What's your problem with David?'

'You mean aside from the fact he's been swanning around for decades without a care in the world? How about the way he lied to both of us about who he was? Or the way he's still lying?'

'What are you talking about?'

'How does he know so much about us if he's never mixed with Rephaim? He's too cagey about his past. I don't trust him.'

'Well, I do.'

'And your judgment has worked out so well this far.'

I'm tempted to smack him across the side of the head 'Yeah, well, I trust you too. Is that bad judgment?'

His lack of a comeback is immensely satisfying.

'Come on.' I say turning for the door.

'In a minute.' I don't wait

'You could have just told me,' Neal says when I reach the table.

'Told you what?'

'The truth, Emma,' David says, holding my gaze with enough intensity that I let him finish. 'About Liam finding out something he shouldn't have before he died. About the people looking for you, and how they took Mary Margaret to get at you. How you said you'd go with them if they let Mary Margaret go.'

'And what they did to you.' Neal's eyes flick to my neck. His anger has diffused a little. His anxiety hasn't.

'We just let that girl take her,' he says to David. 'You lied to us, and we all let it happen. All that crap about ex-girlfriends and nonsense.'

'If he didn't, everyone at the party might have had a night like me.'

Neal studies the grain of the table 'How does he fit into all this?'

He means Killian.

'Like I told you, he's a mate of my brother's.'

'A lot of people thought I died with Liam. When Killian found out I was alive, he came looking for me. So did the people who took Mary Margaret.'

'Do you know what it was Liam found out?'

'Not a clue.'

'Swan, a word.' Killian pulls on my arm dragging me to another table before I can look at him.

'What are you telling him?'

'Nothing he just wants to help, me and Mary Margaret.'

'This is bullshit. Now the barman wants to play hero, I'm telling you right now, I'm not babysitting your little boyfriend.'

'I didn't ask you to,' I say, wishing for once he would act his age. 'I have no intention of involving him. And he's not my boyfriend.'

'll sort this out.'

I put a hand on his shoulder. 'Just give David a chance.'

Killian lets me push him back into a seat. His blue eyes are unnaturally bright in the sunlight.

'He's got one minute.'

I make my way back to Neal's table.

'You have to tell the cops,' Neal says to me.

'No,' I say. 'And neither can you.'

'But—'

'You'll get her killed.'

I'm about to push the point when a throat clears behind me.

'Excuse me, do you know if this is a good place for coffee?'

I turn, annoyed at the interruption—and come face to face with Robin.


	17. Chapter 17

CROSS MY HEART

'You bastard.' David moves so quickly a chair tips and smacks loudly on the floor. His punch lands on Robins cheek.

Robin is still dressed in the long-sleeved puffy shirt, with the sleeveless cargo green hoodie on top and heavy-duty pants but he's rolled up the sleeves of his shirt showing off muscled forearms. He touches his cheek and moves a few paces away, out of swinging range.

'Calm down, kids, I've just come for the espresso. I hear it's good here.' He folds his arms and the exposed muscles in his arms flex. Like I need a reminder of how strong he is.

Neal's eyes dart from me to Robin and back again. David's chest is rising and falling quickly.

'What do you want?' I look at the table behind Robin. Killian's table is empty.

'Honestly?' Robin sighs. 'I want for none of this to have happened. For life to go back to the way it was. I'd like to not have to worry about you smashing me in the coglioni.'

David stands the chair back up. He slides it under the table, giving a quick, reassuring smile in Neal's direction.

'You mean you want it to be like it was before, when Liam and I weren't talking to each other?' I ask.

Robin shakes his head and looks at me like I should understand. 'Before that, when we were all still one big happy family.'

'Come on, Robin, we were never that.'

I turn to find Killian sitting down at the abandoned table behind me. He must have shifted there. It takes all my concentration to look back at Robin.

Robin raises his hands, 'Killian, let's not make a scene in this nice public place.'

'Like Regina last night?'

'That wasn't exactly how it was meant to go down. She may have gone in a little early.'

'And what about Swan in the cage? Was that meant to happen?'

'I just follow orders, you know how it goes.'

Killian is relaxed, conversational. No matter how strong Robin is, Killian is the better fighter, and both men clearly know it.

'It's a wonder Swan could find your balls at all. Sounds like you still haven't grown a pair.'

Robin's lips draw together. 'And I suppose you're here out of the goodness of your heart?'

'Rumple's the only one kidnapping her friends.'

Robin's eyes light up. 'Ah, Mary Margaret…A fine young woman, very pretty'

David flies at him. I should have been ready for it, but I was too busy thinking about going for him myself.

David might not be trained, but he's still Rephaite. Robin goes to swat him away, only to find David's hands clamped around his throat, driving him into the wall.

Killian pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. It's hard to tell if he's enjoying the show, and will just let it play out, or step in and break it up.

'Hey, leave it Dave.'

Robin doesn't fight back. He's probably under orders not to.

'Where is she?' David says. 'I will kill you if you hurt her.'

Killian finally stands up and moves over to the quarrelling David and Robin.

Neal grips his hand in a tight fist, his nails threatening to break through the soft skin of his palm.

'Calm down,' I mouth at him.

'Come on, boys,' Killian says, like this was a bit of fun gone too far. He grabs Robin and David by the neck and squeezes until he gets David's attention. 'Enough' he says, and breaks them apart.

He shoves Robin and David into opposite sides the courtyard and stands in between still keeping them separated.

'Neal why don't you go inside and get something to eat.' This isn't likely to end well and I don't want him getting caught in the middle. Neal does what he's told.

I take a step towards Killian

'What did you come here to tell Swan?' Killian asks.

Robin readjusts his shirt and stretches his neck. David tries to push past, but Killian blocks him.

'Think,' Killian says.

I push past Killian while he's distracted, and he does nothing to stop me.

'What do you want?' I ask Robin.

'You made an offer to Graham.' He waits for me to nod that I understand. 'He's accepted your terms.'

My heart stutters.

'That was before the cage.'

'Wait,' Killian says. 'What offer?'

I ignore him, my eyes locked on Robin.

'How else do you think the lovely Mary Margaret is coming home?' he says.

'No more torture,' I say. As if I'll have any say in it once I'm back at the Sanctuary. 'And I want Mary Margaret back here before tomorrow. I'm not going anywhere until I see she's okay.' My voice shakes.

Killian is beside me. 'What offer?'

'I'll explain later.' I'm not game to look at him.

Robin nods. 'I'll be back before sunset to give you a place and time for the exchange. Be home.' He looks past me. David is still behind us but Robin shifts, right there, in the sunlight.

Killian grabs me by the arm, rougher than he's ever been with me. 'What have you done?'

THAT BUZZ INSIDE YOUR BRAIN

After Robin leaves—after telling Neal that he was negotiating to bring Mary Margaret home, after escaping out the back door so Killian and David can't find me—I find solace in the late afternoon sun.

All I want to do is go home.

For once the normal storm clouds that cover the sky and cast long shadows across the ground are gone. The sky is vivid blue, the breeze so gentle it barely disturbs the leaves on the road. How can my life be such a mess when the weather is so perfect?

There's no sign of Killian or David, thankfully, so I head for home. I think I'm safe from Robin—at least for the moment.

The stairs are easier today and fiddle with the lock trying to get the key to turn.

'Tell me about this deal you've struck with Graham.'

I flinch and turn. Killian is leaning against the wall behind me.

'Don't do that.' I say loudly. He seems to realise that appearing behind me without warning probably wasn't the best idea.

'Sorry.' he says coming closer reaching around me and turning the key in the lock. The door swings open.

'Don't you walk anywhere?'

'Not if I can help it.'

I walk into the apartment. David is behind the kitchen bench but I walk past him into my room, forcing Killian to follow.

'We could have gotten here quicker if we—'

'No.' I don't look at him. 'I'd like to be able to enjoy one last small slice of normality.'

Killian grabs my elbow. Not roughly, but it brings me to a halt. 'What have you agreed to?'

'I offered myself as a trade for Mary Margaret. I told Graham I'd stay at the Sanctuary. Let them train me.'

'Please tell me you're not naive enough to think anything has changed.'

'No.'

'Then why?'

'I'm not planning on staying. I'll go with them when I know Mary Margaret. is safe, and then I'll shift straight back.'

He raises his eyebrows. 'How are you going to do that?'

'I was hoping you'd teach me.'

He stares at me for a good five seconds. 'You're joking, right?'

'Can't you do it?'

'Of course I can. With time. What you're asking, it's like…It's like a ten-year-old asking to fly an F1-11.'

'I'm like a ten-year-old now?'

'Shit, Swan.' He runs his hands through his hair. 'Okay, so maybe it's not quite as bad as that, but it's not something I can teach you in an hour.'

Without shifting, I have no plan. The cage flashes into my mind, the diamond-shaped wire, the blood-soaked sawdust.

'There's a hundred different things that can go wrong when you shift. For a start, the first few times you end up in places you don't expect. You think you're crossing the room and you end up in the middle of a herd of goats in Afghanistan.'

'Then why haven't you started showing me already? My voice rises. 'You've never offered to teach me a thing.'

His voice flattens. 'How was I to know you'd go all weak-kneed at the sight of Pretty Boy? If you'd listened to me—'

'Listened to you about what?' The anger comes easily. 'You've kept me blundering around in the dark, and don't act like you haven't been enjoying yourself—'

'I'm not the one who put you in a cage with a hellion.'

'But you've been having fun at my expense.'

His eyes darken. 'Yeah, it was a blast going back to the Sanctuary.'

'That's not what I—'

'It doesn't matter that I told Rumple I'd never set foot there again. It's not like it cost me my pride or anything. And yeah, it was so much fun to find you torn up like that.'

'Killian…' I rub my eyes. 'That came out wrong.'

He stares past me.

'I don't want to go to the Sanctuary,' I say quietly. 'So what do I do?'

I sit down on the my bed, pulling the covers around my shoulders

'We need to know Rumple's next move,' Killian says finally, sitting down beside me. 'The only thing we can do is wait for Robin.'

He doesn't look at me, twiddling his thumbs, agitated. There's a strained silence between us. Finally, I can't stand it any longer. 'How do you think David learned to shift?'

'No idea. But I've had enough of his ducking and weaving.'

'Have you ever considered you might get more out of him if you're actually pleasant, instead of bitching at him all the time?'

He looks at me. 'You've got a short memory.'

'Are you trying to be a smartarse?'

He almost smiles. 'You know what I mean.'

'Not really.'

'It's just, you're so much like you sometimes. I keep forgetting you're not, you know, you.'

I can't tell if it's a compliment or not, but at least his mood is improving.

'Yeah, well, I'm starting to wish I was.'

'I don't know.' Killian puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket. 'Maybe we shouldn't be in such a hurry.' He lifts the curtains covering the window and looks out, staring out across the blue sea.

'You and Liam have never been happy unless you're near the sea,' Killian says 'He had this theory that your mother came from a family of fishermen.'

I frown. 'Didn't we know?'

'Rumple has always been foggy about the details. He said he found you somewhere in America. He never gave specifics.'

'What about you?'

'East Ireland, apparently.'

'You don't believe him?'

'It's like everything Rumple says, there's no way to know for sure. But it doesn't matter where we come from, does it? Just who.'

'You could've gone anywhere,' Killian says. 'Why here?'

'I don't know. I wanted to get away from everything that reminded me of Liam.' I untie the scarf around my neck. It's hot and making me itch. I rub the bite mark. 'And I still ended up at the beach.'

'What else do you remember?'

'Nothing. God, how many times do I have to say it?'

'Since the accident. What do you remember about being in hospital?'

'Oh.'

How do I dredge up those memories without the weight that comes with them?

'Where were you?' he presses.

'New York.'

'Are you sure? How do you know that was real?'

'The pain.' My fingers go to the old scar under my hair. 'Everything before is hazy, even the crash. But the hospital, and everything since—it's clear.'

Every day of rehab. Every night, screaming for Liam.

'Did anyone visit you?'

'No.'

'You told David a nurse broke the news about the funeral. It was a woman?'

I nod. 'I can't remember her face.'

'There must be something.'

'I remember her accent—New Zealand, I think.'

A vague memory surfaces. The ward at night. The nurse talking to me, telling me I'm doing well, that I'll be all right. The dark room smelling of hospital, pain and grief.

'That's a start,' Killian says. 'We'll find her and see if she remembers who delivered the message. I'd like to know how you turned up at that hospital. Someone really went out of their way to hide you.'

'Shifted, you mean?'

'Yep.'

'Then how come I was so busted up?'

'Maybe you started off worse.'

I was in agony that first month in hospital. I find it hard to believe it could have been worse.

'So, that's the plan,' Killian says. 'We go to New York.'

'Mary Margaret. first.' I hug my knees. 'Can I see those photos again?'

He gives me a blank look.

'Of Liam. My phone's in Italy, remember? I didn't get the chance to collect it when I checked out of the Sanctuary.'

'Right.' He hands his phone over.

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of it in my palm. And then I look at my brother for the first time with open eyes.

It should be different, knowing this Liam is more real than the one in my memories, but it isn't. I linger on the last image, of Liam is staring out at the water.

'Is that Patmos?'

'Yeah,' Killian says. 'We went back around the time you two started talking again. I've looked at that shot a thousand times.' He leans closer. 'He's thinking about you there.'

I touch the screen. 'Not me. Th other Emma.'

'Same thing.'

'Is it?'

Killian's eyes roam my face: my hair, my eyes, my lips. He doesn't answer.

A throat clears behind us.

'Ah, Dave,' Killian says, standing up. 'Got the coffee machine on in there?'


	18. Chapter 18

PATIENCE IS OVERRATED

David has found the ingredients for a banana cake, and it's cooling on the rack in the kitchen. It smells amazing. I don't know if he overheard our conversation, and I don't ask. I make coco and cut the cake.

'What do you think is going to happen this afternoon?' I ask Killian.

He's seated at the bench, too busy buttering his slice to answer.

'You know how much cholesterol is in that?' David stares at the soaked cake.

Killian slaps another layer on, just to annoy him. 'So? Unless it makes my head fall off, it's not going to kill me.'

'But—' David glances at me and lets it drop.

'Robin will turn up at some point,' Killian says through a mouthful of cake, 'and tell you the place and time for the big exchange. It'll all be very dramatic.'

'And then what?'

He wipes his bottom lip with his thumb. It distracts me for a second. 'Depends on the where and when.'

'That's not very helpful.'

'Best I can do at this point.' He absently wipes his buttery fingers on the side of his pants. 'Look, Liam was the planner. I'm the doer. And when the time comes, I'll do what needs doing.'

I nod, but I hate not having a plan.

Killian gestures to my neck. 'Give me a look at that.'

My hand comes up to cover the scar. My skin is still warm, and the scar is lumpy. I go over to him and offer my neck. He runs his fingertips over the wound.

'Still hurt?'

'A bit.'

'You want to shift again?'

I shake my head.

His fingers linger on my skin. 'If you won't shift you should put something else on it to help it heal. I bet Dave can play nurse and help you with that.'

'Give it a rest,' I say, leaning in to him.

David's knife clatters on the bench. His face is flushed. 'Is all this because I managed to avoid your little cult?'

'It's because you've avoided responsibility.'

'To do what? The bidding of a religious zealot?'

'To sort through the endless shit of our existence, like the rest of us.'

David glares at him. 'Tell me you wouldn't have done exactly what I did if you'd had the chance?'

Killian's eyes narrow. 'And what exactly did you do?'

'I chose to stay on my own.'

'How did you know there was any other way—and don't give me your bullshit about having no contact with the Rephaim.'

'I—'

There are three faint thuds on the door downstairs.

David stands up, taller. 'Robin.'

'Just bloody spit it out,' Killian says.

'It's not a simple answer and we don't have time.'

'I'll go,' I say.

The stairwell is full of shadows. Killian materialises a few stairs ahead of me, making me flinch, he doesn't look back until he reaches the door. There's no one visible through the window of the door, but that doesn't mean there isn't someone lurking just out of view. He signals for me to open it. I pause for a heartbeat, and turn the handle. The door sticks, then jerks open.

I peer out into the street. There's no one there.

Killian makes a noise—something between a grunt and a laugh. He points to a blank envelope nailed to the door just above the pane of glass.

'I told you,' he says. 'Dramatic.'

I take it to the kitchen, opening it as I go and leaving both doors open. Let them come. Three words written neatly on a piece of notebook paper.

La cabina. All'alba.

I turn it over, but there's nothing on the back. I shove it at Killian. 'It's obviously meant for you.'

He skims the page. 'The Cabin, at dawn.'

'What does that mean?'

'I don't know.' David says, reading over Killian's shoulder.

'Does it mean something to either of you?' I ask.

'It means Graham wants me to know you've made the deal,' Killian says. 'Why else write it in Italian? He knew you'd have to show it to me.'

'But what's the point if we don't know what or where he's talking about?' I push my hair off my face.

I need space. I pace round and round in circles never taking my eyes off the floor. A loud clambering in the stairwell stirs me from my trance. Killian, David and I share a glance, then rush out the open door onto the landing, ready for anything.

'What the—'

Someone has tripped up the last stair and is sprawled half on the staircase, half on the landing. Climbing to his feet Neal's palms come up. 'I know I shouldn't be here, but listen for a second before you go off your brain. I think I can help.'

BITTERSWEET AFTERTASTE

We walk in silence and Neal comes inside. Did we say anything we shouldn't have in the last few minutes? Hopefully Neal's hearing isn't that good.

This time I shut the front door, lock it shut. Then find my scarf and tie it back around my neck.

'I would have thought you had to work,' I say.

'And I thought I told you to stay out of this,' Killian says.

Neal stands near the fridge, wary. Killian, David and I on the other side of the bench, facing him. 'I've known Mary Margaret longer than the three of you put together, so don't tell me this is none of my business.'

'Have you told anyone?' Killian's eyes are dark, dangerous.

'Not yet.'

Killian smiles. It's not friendly. There's every chance he's about to launch across the kitchen bench and take Neal somewhere far, far away. 'Are you involved in this? Did you put this on the door?' He holds up the note.

Neal baulks. 'Of course I didn't! God, dude, you're paranoid.'

'You just happened to be sneaking around at the same time someone leaves us a note?'

'I was trying to find out what you're doing to get Mary Margaret back. Excuse me for not trusting you. You and your friends terrorising this town—'

'Can you help us?' David interrupts.

Neal nods. 'There's a place way up in the woods, really exclusive, hunting cabin but it's been empty for years. Stories of it being haunted and such have kept people out. Only now, folks have been up there in the woods and they say there's activity in the house. Something or someone is inside.'

'And you think that's where they're keeping Mary Margaret.' He nods

'Why would they stay so close?' I ask.

David answers. 'Why not? I mean, was there really any reason to take Mary Margaret to'—he catches himself—'further away?'

No, there wasn't. Not when I took the bait so easily. They only needed me to believe she was at the Sanctuary. She didn't have to actually be there.

Killian stirs. A muscle in his jaw twitches. 'Pricks.'

David hands Neal a piece of cake. 'How many cabins are up there?'

'Just the one.'

'How far away?'

'A half hour by car, another half hour on foot. It's a pretty dense with trees and growth. I wouldn't risk trying to take the car more than half way.'

'Why do you know it so well?'

'Like I said you hear stories. Maybe I went to have a look when I was little.'

David opens drawers until he finds a piece of paper and a pencil. He slaps them on the bench. 'Can you draw a map to show where it is? And the general layout of the cabin?'

'It'll be rough, but, yeah, I think so.'

I move away from the bench, my back to Neal, and catch Killian's eye. 'Can we just go there?' I flick my palm in front of my chest in a lame attempt to demonstrate shifting.

'Too risky.' Killian checks Neal is still busy drawing. 'With maps and a good description of the terrain we could get close, but I can't risk arriving on Graham's lap by mistake. We need to take them by surprise.'

Something flutters in my chest. It could be hope. 'You have a plan?'

'Kind of.' Killian beckons me away from the kitchen, but close enough where we can still keep an eye on David and Neal. 'They're not just going to hand Mary Margaret over—not until they've got you back at the Sanctuary. So we'll have to create a distraction. They don't know about Dave. He might be able to get her out before they work out what's going on.'

David looks up from the table at his name.

'But Mary Margaret doesn't know about him either.'

'So? He can still grab her and get the hell out of there.'

He means shift. 'That's going to be a nasty shock.'

'She'll get over it.'

I glance at David and he nods. Then the rest of Killian's plan registers. I draw him into my room. 'So, you and me, we're going to take on whoever's there?'

'Wouldn't that be something.' Killian half-smiles. 'Back in the day, we could have taken down half the Sanctuary on our own. But given you're not quite yourself, we're going to need some back-up.'

I swallow. Please don't let it be Milah. I've never met her, but I already know I don't want her help. 'Who?'

'A couple of people who are very handy in a scrap.'

'Are they Outcasts too?'

Too late, I wonder if the term is offensive, but it rolls right over Killian.

'Two of the best.'

He takes out his phone, moves further into my room.

Killian watches me as he dials and waits for an answer. He turns away to speak. 'It's me…Hang on, I'll tell you in a sec. Look…' He sighs. The voice on the other end is loud, but I can't make out the words. 'For pity's sake man, I'm fine. And I'm not apologising…' His shoulders tighten. 'I don't give a shit what she thinks.'

My pulse picks up.

He glances at me. 'Yeah. I'm looking at her right now… Trust me, it's weirder here.' He looks away again. 'I'll explain when I see you…No. It's complicated.'

Whoever he's talking to knows me. I'm never going to get used to that.

'I'll come to you both…No, just me. She won't leave.' He raises his eyebrows at me.

I shake my head. I'm curious, but not enough to risk getting stuck somewhere on the other side of the Equator.

'Hey, um, don't tell anyone you've heard from me.'

Killian ends the call and walks back into the kitchen. I follow. He stops before the front door and puts his hands on my shoulders. 'Stay. Here.'

'I'm not a dog.'

'I mean it. I don't care who else turns up and what they tell you. You wait for me to get back. David's got my number, so call me if you get twitchy.'

'Where are you going?'

'Mexico.'

Mexico in the blink of an eye. He'll be so far away. 'But you'll be back in a few minutes, right?'

A hint of a smile. 'You can always come if you can't live without me.'

'Oh, please.' I don't like the idea of him not being here. But he doesn't need to know that. And I'm not sure how I feel about meeting more Rephaim—especially Outcasts. 'You really trust them?'

'With my life. So did Liam.' He looks at me. His eyes are a paler shade of blue now. 'So did you at one point.'

'Not fair. I can't argue with you about stuff I don't remember.'

He grins. 'I know.' And then he opens the door and disappears.

I stand there alone, feeling the void he's left behind. Then I turn back to the others and pull up a seat beside David.

'Where's he gone?' David asks.

'To get help.'

He closes his eyes. 'Wonderful.'

Neal tosses the pencil onto the bench. 'So I've got time to duck home and grab the car?'

'You're not coming with us,' I say

'Do you know someone else familiar with the forest?'

'We'll make do.'

'No, you won't. You'll get lost and then you'll never get Mary Margaret back—'

'I don't care'

'I just talked to David. He's cool about it.'

David nods. 'It sounds like a bit of a trek. We've only got one shot at this and I don't like it either, but it could be our best option.'

'How are we going to see what we're doing once we're on foot? It'll be dark by the time we get up there.'

'I've got a good torch and it's almost a full moon,' Neal says. 'If it's a clear night, it won't be too bad. Let me help.'

I push a stray hair out of my face. 'This isn't a game, Neal. You could get killed—'

'So could you.'

'Killian and the people he's bringing know how to handle this kind of thing. You don't.'

'I'm just offering to get you up there. Your mates can knock themselves out being heroes.' He stands up. 'And if it goes bad, I'll come back and get the sheriff.'

I know Killian's not going to like the plan, but I'm tired of arguing. 'I'm going into that forest whether you wait for me or not.'

'We'll wait. Go.'

Neal looks to David for confirmation—apparently his word means more than mine—and leaves. As the door slams I take off the scarf again and put my face down on the cool bench.

'He'll be all right if he stays out of the way,' David says. 'And maybe the Rephaim won't be quite so quick to shift with him there.'

'Speaking of which…how did you learn how to do that?'

It's a simple question, but he watches me for a long moment. 'Why?'

'Because I need to learn and I want to know how you worked it out on your own.'

He plays with stray cake crumbs on the bench. 'Can't this wait? Killian will back soon.'

'No…it can't.'

'You have to promise to stay calm and hear me out.'

'David, we haven't got long! How did you work it out?'

He finally looks me in the eye. 'I didn't. Someone taught me.'

'Who?'

He swallows. 'You and Liam.'

Wait. 'What?'

'You and Liam taught me how to shift.'

I open my mouth. Close it. Try again. 'When?'

'Just before the turn of last century.'

I stare at him. 'Are you fucking kidding?'

'Let me explain—'

'You'd met me before?'

David nods, slowly. Wary. 'Our mothers were cousins.'

WE'RE NOT ALL THE SAME

'Just hear me out,' David says.

I sit up and gesture for him to go on.

'I had no idea there was anyone else like me until I met you and Liam.' He talks quickly. 'It wasn't long after I'd turned eighteen. I was tending to our sheep and you appeared in the middle of the herd. I nearly fell over a sheep myself. You didn't even look around; you just started laughing and roughhousing each other. And then you saw me. I asked who you were and you said you were descended from angels and I shouldn't look upon you.'

'We told you what we were?'

'You were trying to scare me. It was your first shift outside the Sanctuary and you didn't mean to end up in the same place together. You wanted to enjoy the moment on your own. But then I blabbed my story—or at least the story my mother told me. Liam thought I was making it up to impress you. It was your idea to check the mark on my neck.' He pauses. 'I took you to meet Mother. She lost her mind when she saw you. She threw herself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. She called you Ingrid.'

I'm holding my breath. I let it out.

'I'd never heard of her—or you—before then. Ingrid was her cousin. Your mother.'

Breathe.

'My mother wasn't alone when the Fallen came. Ingrid was with her when two angels found them on the beach. Ingrid came from another village by the sea, and when her father found out she was pregnant, he threw her out. Our village had already shunned Mother for being pregnant without a husband, so my grandfather, took in Ingrid. Nobody knew he had two pregnant girls under his roof. He was a good man, but he never believed their story about angels. Until Rumplestiltskin turned up.'

He breaks the moment and goes to the sink, pours a glass of water.

'We were about a month old then. Grandad said Rumplestiltskin was dressed as a man of faith, asking at churches about unwed mothers needing absolution—'

I hold up a hand and he looks at me. 'Ingrid didn't die giving birth?'

'No.' He drops his gaze. 'Rumplestiltskin came looking for a mother and child. He found Ingrid and her twins. By the time Grandad got to the room, Rumplestiltskin had the babies and Ingrid was dead. As soon as Granddad walked in, he vanished. Rumplestiltskin never knew there was another woman and child.'

'Where were you?'

'My mother had taken me with her to pick apples. She didn't know who Rumplestiltskin was or why he came. Not until the two of you turned up eighteen years later and told us about the Sanctuary.'

Water drips from the tap into the sink. I watch the water gathering into droplets, then falling. Falling.

Rumplestiltskin killed our mother. He stole us.

'The first time you shifted, you went back to where your life started. It was probably the same for everyone, it's just the others wouldn't have known it.'

His words finally register. 'Where were we born?'

'On a sheep farm, here in America.'

I close my eyes. The memory of the day we ran away from the orphanage, the day Liam told me he'd always look out for me. Whoever altered my memory wanted me to feel connected to the country where I was born.

'When we shift, I think we're drawn to locations where there are others like us. That's why you arrived on the farm where I was, rather than somewhere else.'

I join David with a glass of water. 'And we went back to Rumplestiltskin? Even knowing he'd…' I can't say it.

'The Sanctuary was your home,' David says softly. 'And I'm not sure you really believed my mother the first time. But you never told him about us.'

'How do you know?'

'Because he never came for me.' David gives me a small smile. 'You both kept coming back over the next few months. You were always supposed to be doing something else—you never told me what, and I never asked. I was just happy you came. It took a while, but you taught me to shift.'

I put the glass down. Liam and I were defying the Sanctuary a century ago. Why did we stay so long if we knew what Rumplestiltskin had done? And why didn't I leave with Liam when he finally walked away all those years later?

David moves his glass on the bench, smudging the ring of water. He sighs. 'It didn't last long. Mother panicked. She trusted you and Liam, but she was terrified of Rumplestiltskin. There was every chance he would find us one day if you kept coming, and she was afraid of what would happen to us when he did. So we sold the farm and we went to New York.'

'Did we know where you went?'

'We were still a century or so away from mobile phones.'

'So, what? You haven't seen me since then?'

He straightens. 'Not exactly.'

'Don't fuck around, David—' I twist around, reaching to grab the front of his shirt when there's a gentle gust of air behind me and my stomach twists.

We're not alone anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

SKELETONS

Killian is flanked by a guy and a beautiful woman. They glance at each other, drop their duffel bags, and shift into fighter stances. Both are in loose black pants and t-shirts.

My brain is slow to change gears, still preoccupied with David. I move away from him. I have no idea what history I have with these two. A heads-up from Killian would have been nice.

'This is Red and Vic.' Killian glances at David and me then back at David. He raises his eyebrows at me in a silent question, which I ignore. 'And that,' he says, gesturing to David, 'is the most elusive bastard on the planet.'

Red and Vic give David a quick once-over but are more interested in me for the moment. Vic is taller than Killian with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes.

Red is tall and slim with brown hair and wolf coloured eyes. Silken hair hangs over one shoulder in a thick plait. She has a thick red ribbon in her hair and her skin is flawless—except for the four thick scars that start halfway down her left cheek and run the length of her neck to her collarbone.

'Hey,' I say, trying not to stare.

She tilts her head. 'You don't know us?' Her voice is soft, calming.

I look from one to the other. 'No.'

'But you remember Liam?'

'Yeah.' I pause. 'Well, a version of him, anyway.'

Red's eyes fall to the new scar on my neck. 'Can I see?'

I glance at Killian, and he nods. She comes over, smelling like pine. She keeps checking my face, like I might change my mind and take a swing at her.

'Graham let a hellion drink from you?'

I nod.

She lets her breath out. 'What does that mean?'

'That he's a prick?' I say.

'You know you were once in love with him?'

'I think it's safe to say the love's gone.'

She turns to Killian. 'Did you do this?'

'No, Red, I really didn't.' He's still watching me closely, a slight frown creasing his forehead. When Red looks away, he mouths, 'What's going on?' I shake my head and that telltale muscle twitches in his jaw.

'Well, whoever did,' Red says to Killian, 'you're in their debt. And you.' She holds out her hand to David. 'Welcome to the circus, ah…?'

'David, David Nolan' He shakes her hand once, and lets go.

She offers him a slow smile. She is beautiful, scars or no scars.

'Was that always your name?'

'No.'

'David means Beloved or friend, doesn't it? And Nolan means noble?'

David nods with a small smile,

'Yeah. How did you know Neal wasn't still here?'

Her smile falters. 'Who?'

'The barman,' Killian says. 'We called in to my place on the way here, saw him walk past.'

Vic picks up the duffel bags and throws them on the bench. They clatter loudly. He unzips them and pulls out swords and knives, laying them side by side. 'You know how to use any of these?' he asks David.

'No,' David says.

'We're not really using swords on each other, are we?' Red asks Killian.

He shrugs. 'Depends what they bring to the party. We're not going in unarmed.'

Vic grabs a curved sword like the one I used at the Sanctuary, only this one's in a leather scabbard. He makes sure I'm paying attention, and then tosses it to me. I catch it by the hilt. I slip the blade out and test its weight, again surprised by its familiarity.

'That was Liam's training katana,' Vic says.

The black leather straps around the hilt are scuffed, but the blade gleams so that I can see my face in it. I can't imagine my brother using it to slice someone open. I can't imagine using it against a person.

'Who do you fight with these?'

'Hellions, demons…the humans who worship them.' Killian's not looking at me when he speaks. He knows something happened while he was gone. He rummages around in the bag and pulls out a hunting knife.

'And hellions are different to demons?'

'Your dreams were short on detail.' He slips the knife out of its sheath and checks one side then the other. 'Hellions are the attack dogs and demons are their masters.'

'Demons used to be angels, so they can take human form, like angels can,' Red says. 'Hellions always look like hellions.'

I remember something from when I was in the cage.

'Who's The Shadow?'

'Where'd you hear that?' Killian asks.

'The Sanctuary. Lily mentioned him.'

'The Shadow was hell's gatekeeper until the Fallen escaped. Then he was torn apart by his demon brothers, put back together and banished to the fringes of hell, along with his inner circle and pack of hell-turds. The only way they can get back in is if they deliver Semyaza and the two hundred in chains.' He glances down at my casual clothes. 'You need to change.'

'Hang on, I'm not finished—'

'Do you want a crash course on demonology, or do you want to get your friend back?' Killian repacks the weapons.

'Don't start acting like an arsehole again now you've got an audience.'

'Did you or did you not ask for my help?'

'I didn't realise it was a choice between saving Mary Margaret and understanding what's going on. Maybe if I'd known a little more, I would have made sure Mary Margaret wasn't in danger in the first place.'

'Maybe she wouldn't have been in danger if you hadn't had your tongue down the barman's throat.'

'Oh, for fuck's sake, get over it.'

Red smiles. 'This is just like the old days. I've actually missed this.'

David clears his throat. 'Speaking of Mary Margaret…' He gives me a meaningful look and then says to Killian, 'Neal's gone to get maps and a car we can drive. He knows the way—'

'I bet he does.'

I can't be bothered arguing with Killian about Neal's involvement. I'm halfway to go and change when I remember I'm still holding the katana. I offer the hilt to Vic. He shakes his head.

'Keep it until we find yours.' Like we're talking about a tennis racquet.

'Could you look after it for now?' I hand it to him again, and this time he takes it.

In my room, I find and lean against the wardrobe, waiting for the churning in my stomach to stop. Why didn't David tell me the whole story the night he dropped the bombshell? I can't stand that he knows more about my family history than I do. Or that Killian was right about him hiding something. What else hasn't he told me?

There's a soft knock against the wood.

'Emma. Can I come in?' It's Red.

'Sure.' I cross the room and sit on the bed, needing space for whatever this conversation is going to be.

Red spends a good minute checking out my room. I can't tell what she's thinking. I lean over and flick on the bedside lamp. Darkness isn't far away now.

Red finishes her inventory of the room. 'You look… different.'

'How?' I'm still trying not to stare at her scar, although I'm sure mine's just as distracting.

'I don't know,' she says. 'Softer. It suits you.'

'I don't feel softer.'

She straightens the pile of endless junk on my desk. 'Killian says you've been here nearly a year? What's it like?'

'What's what like?'

'Living a normal life.'

'I wouldn't know. Nothing's felt normal since the accident.'

'But until we all showed up…You were happy, right?'

'You mean apart from the grief eating me from the inside out?'

She nods.

I think about it—about running on the beach, The Rabbit Hole, Granny's and laughing with Mary Margaret. 'There have been moments. But only a year of my memory was actually real. The rest of my so-called normal life never happened.'

Red sits down next to me. 'But what a gift.'

'I don't consider watching my brother lose his head in a car accident a gift.' I grab a clean pair of jeans from the pile on the desk and start to change. 'Whether it was real or not, I've had to get through every day since without him.' My voice cracks a little. 'And I know that in the real world we were apart for a decade, but that's not the life I remember. How could you call any of that a gift?'

She shifts on the bed so she can face me. 'It's a gift because you don't remember what it's like to be part of the Rephaim. To always have some demon or hell-spawn to fight. To be immortal but to never have a life of your own.'

'Isn't that why you left the Sanctuary—to get a life?' I pull on a black t-shirt and tight black leather jacket that hugs my chest. Ironically, it's astounding how many of my clothes are black. 'How's that working out?'

Red gives me a tight smile. 'I'm living the dream.' She pauses then points to my riding boots by the door. 'You'll want those.'

I sit on the floor to put them on.

'What did you mean about Killian owing whoever changed my memories?'

'You really don't remember?'

I grit my teeth. 'No, and that's the last time I'm going to say it.'

She fiddles with her hair band, tightens it. 'You were meant to come with us when we left the Sanctuary, but at the last minute you changed your mind.'

'But I thought—didn't Killian run off to be with Milah, and everyone else just followed?'

'Who told you that?'

'Lily.'

Her laugh is short, cold. 'Of course she's still clinging to that lie. It's easier than the thought Liam left because he stopped believing Rumplestiltskin's propaganda. Liam had a huge fight with Rumple. There had never been anything like it, and it forced everyone to take a side. You stood with us. Lily didn't know what to do. She'd been in love with Liam for years—'

'What?' I interrupt. 'Are you sure?'

'Worst kept secret in the Sanctuary.'

'No, I mean the fight with Rumplestiltskin. What was it over?'

Red sits cross-legged on the bed, boots and all. 'Liam demanded that Rumplestilskin summon an archangel.'

'Why?'

'Rumplestiltskin claims he's following orders from the Garrison—that they're the ones pulling our strings, guiding us towards some great destiny. Liam got tired of hearing it secondhand. He wanted to hear it from the source.'

'What happened?'

'Rumplestiltskin refused. Said, "You don't summon the Host of Heaven," and Liam told him that if he didn't we were leaving.'

'But what did Liam think was going to happen if an archangel turned up?'

Red leans back on her hands. 'If he didn't get struck down? He had a question or two. Like why we had to prove ourselves to a Garrison that's never shown any interest in us. Why we have to find the Fallen and hand them over.'

'What else would you do with them?'

'A few of us think that after a century and a half, we've earned the right to know our fathers.'

'And Rumplestiltskin doesn't want that to happen?'

'He's scared we'll join forces with them. Betray him and the Garrison to keep our fathers out of hell. Of course, Milah has done nothing to dispel that myth.'

'Is that what she wants to happen?'

Red gives the smallest of shrugs. 'I don't think Milah knows what she wants half the time.'

'I take it Rumplestilskin didn't summon an archangel.'

'No. And Liam left, along with everyone who supported him.'

I jam my feet into my boots. 'I supported him?'

'You did.'

'So why didn't I go?'

'To this day, none of us knows. Not even Liam knew. One minute you were all fired up, and the next you told us you were staying.'

I absorb that. 'So Liam was the reason everyone left. Not Milah?'

Red sighs. 'Milah had quite an impact when Rumplestilskin brought her into the Sanctuary. She shook things up for sure, and there's no doubt she was a catalyst for what followed. But there was unrest in the ranks long before she came along. Milah has been blamed for the rift—and, believe me, she's quick to take the credit for it—but it wasn't that simple.'

'But Killian and Milah were together when they left?' I wish this question wasn't so important.

'Yes, but you never cared whose bed he was in. You and he were never…you know. You were our best fighters. You bickered all the time, but you brought out the best in each other as warriors. Going into battle next to you turned him on more than any woman could.'

I give her a dubious look and she laughs. 'Maybe a slight exaggeration, but he really did love it.' Her smile fades. 'And you and Liam were inseparable. That's why it made no sense that you would take the opposite side to either one of them—let alone both. And then when they heard you'd become closer with Graham…'

I've finished putting my boots on and drop my hands to the splintering floor. 'It's a mess, isn't it?'

She doesn't nod. She doesn't need to.

'It got worse after you and Liam disappeared last year. We thought he'd gone back to the Sanctuary to be with you. And when we heard you'd both died…Honestly, I thought Killian was going to harm himself. He wouldn't talk to anyone for weeks. He drifted in and out of our operations, and then a few months ago he lost interest completely and stopped answering calls. We only knew he was still alive because he'd send Vic an occasional text. When he told Vic about the possibility you'd resurfaced, there was no doubt he'd come looking for you—'

A voice yells from the kitchen. 'Swan,' Killian barks. 'Your boyfriend's here. Get your arse into gear.'

'Yeah.' I get to my feet. 'I'm the wind beneath his wings.'

WORLDS COLLIDE

Neal is standing in the kitchen near David, his eyes locked on Vic. He's put on a faded dark-green t-shirt and jeans. A map is open on the table, which Killian is bent over.

Neal turns from Vic to take in Red, and then me. I'm guessing no one's bothered with introductions.

'These are friends of Killian's—Red and Vic.'

He frowns. 'Sorry?'

Red's face is turned away from Neal. He hasn't seen the scars yet. 'Ruby and Victor,' she says.

'You look like a Ruby.' There's a flush of red across his neck.

Killian looks up from the map long enough to let me know he didn't miss Neal's reaction.

I ignore his smirk and double-check that my jacket is still covering the bite mark, but it doesn't matter: Neal has spotted Red's scars, and they've got his full attention.

'The barman has finally proven himself useful.' Killian stabs a finger on the page. 'This track should get us close enough. As long as Pretty Boy doesn't know we are coming, we've got a good chance of surprising those arse clowns.'

'Let's do it then.' I wish I was as confident as I sound.

Killian turns to Neal. 'You got room for everyone in that car outside?'

'I just have to move some stuff to make room.'

'Now would be good.'

'I'll help him,' Vic says, and they leave together. He'll probably also have a quiet chat with Neal about staring at Red's scars.

'How are we going to know exactly where they are in the cabin?' I sit down at the dinning table.

'We'll know,' Killian says.

'I thought you couldn't track each other.'

'We can't,'

Red answers for him. 'But if we get close to other Rephaim, we can usually sense them if they've shifted recently.'

'How?'

'It's hard to explain,' Red says. 'A funny feeling in the chest, or the stomach.'

I remember that moment in the forest a few days ago, when I knew I wasn't alone. The day Killian shadowed me through the trees. My body had known there was a threat before I saw him.

'We've got to get near enough to feel it,' Red says, 'so we need at least a rough idea of where someone is.'

'How come Killian didn't sense David was in town then, when he arrived?'

Red frowns at David. 'Did you drive here?'

He gives a self-conscious shrug. 'Seemed less conspicuous.'

'How did Regina and Robin find me?' I ask, but I already know the answer. 'Killian was already here, shifting all over town.'

'Hey.' Killian throws one of the bags of weapons over his shoulder. 'You're the one who put that story online, not me. I had no idea they'd followed me here. How was I to know the Sanctuary had nerds stalking me in cyberspace?'

David gets between us and grabs the other bag. 'Any chance we could discuss this later?'

'Good call,' Red says, and she and David leave the kitchen side by side.

'For the record,' I say to Killian, 'I wasn't blaming you for anything.'

'That's a refreshing change.' He doesn't look at me as we go down the stairs. 'You want to tell me what you and Dave were talking about before I got back?'

'Not right now.'

I don't know what—if anything—I'll tell him, but I need time to get my head around it first. At the very least, to finish the conversation with David.

On the street, Neal and Vic are still fussing around in the back of the car. The sky is heavy purple now, and a few stars are already out over the water. I grab Killian's shirt when he's a couple of steps from the others, and he turns to face me. The smell of fresh cut grass lingers in the air. A shout from the road.

'Look,' I whisper. 'Are you going to stay pissed off at me all night?'

His face is lit yellow by the dying sunlight. He doesn't say anything.

'I don't want to go back to the Sanctuary with Graham.'

He still doesn't speak, and I can't read his expression.

'I mean, no question, the first priority is to get Mary Margaret, but the second is to keep me here, right?'

'That's the plan.'

I push a stray hair out of my face. 'But—'

'Swan,' Killian says, and I bite my lip. 'I know. I'll take care of it.' He leans closer. His shirt is twisted between my fingers. 'It's been a long time since you asked me for anything. I'm not going to muck it up.'

'Any chance you could ease up on being an arsehole for a while as well?'

'That I can't promise.'

He makes no effort to move away.

'The bus is leaving, people!' Red calls from the road.

'I'm scared,' I say.

I'm sure the old Emma never said those words before going into battle, but I need Killian to remember I'm not her.

'The last time you were scared, you separated a hellturd from its head. I don't think fear's a bad thing for you at this point.'

'That's easy for you to say.' I let go of his shirt. His fingers slide around my elbow to keep me from moving past him.

'When it's happening,' he says, 'don't think. Just go with your instincts.'

I try to hang on to that thought. It's not only the fear of being dragged back to the Sanctuary that's scaring me.

What if I let everyone down?


	20. Chapter 20

THE HILLS ARE ALIVE…

It's a tight fit in the car. Neal is behind the wheel and Killian is in the front with him. I'm between Red, David, and Vic is on David's other side. All four of us cramped into three seats. The weapons bags lie on the floor stretched out across our feet. They clattered when Killian tossed them in and Neal pretended not to notice.

Neal weren't kidding when he said how dense the trees are and how risky it would be trying to take the car more than half way. What started out as a wide gravel road soon turned to dirt, and the trees are coming closer and closer to the car.

I grip the front seats, trying to keep my balance. The seatbelt is the only thing stopping me from launching into Killian's or Neal's lap every time we come out of a dip and hit the next rise. Red and Vic cling to the handles above their doors. Every now and then someone grunts we drive over shrubbery.

'Any chance you could miss one or two of the potholes and not drive over every branch in the forest?' Killian snaps.

Neal keeps his eyes on the road. 'Only if you want to take this part on foot and take three hours getting there.'

We drive further into the forest, trees looming dangerously close. Red moves around to get comfortable. When she sees me looking she gives me a reassuring smile.

'Bloody Hell!' Killian's voice is sharp. Neal slams on the brakes.

'Where the bloody hell did you learn to drive?' Killian says as we continue our rough, bumpy ride into the forest.

'Well do you want to drive?' Neal asks going over another bump.

'I'm sure I could do a much better job than you.'

'Would the both of you just shut up!' I shout. They both fall silent.

Without constant fighting there's not much chance of conversation. It's actually a relief. Right now, all I'm thinking about Mary Margaret, and what I did in the cage—and how to do it again.

I'm looking out the window into the dark feathery forest, when Neal swears and jams on the brakes again.

Standing in the middle of the track are eight short, stocky guys in grey pants and pullovers, each with a different colour beanie on their head. Almost all of them have got long beards, and excessive facial hair.

The one in the middle is holding a shotgun and the others, pickaxes.

'Who the bloody hell are they?' Killian asks.

'The call themselves The Dwarfs. They are miners.'

I only know The Dwarfs by reputation—and the occasional glimpse of them running around town. They are all brothers,,not necessarily by blood, but just as close all the same. They spend their times in the mines of Storybrooke and sticking their nose where it doesn't belong.

''Leroy's the one with the gun.' Neal says.

'We go the rest of the way on foot.'

'How are we going to get past that lot?' David asks pointing a finger at the eight men.

'I'll handle it' Neal cuts the engine. 'I know the boys.'

'Make it quick,' Killian says.

Neal gets out, and the smell of damp soil fills the car. He leaves the door open and walks up to the brothers.

'Vic, go,' Killian says, his lips barely moving.

There's a click to my right and the faintest stirring of air as Vic shifts.

Leroy shines a torch at Neal, making him shield his eyes. 'You lost?' Leroy's voice is gruff and hard.

'Nah, mate,' Neal says. 'Just heading up to the cabin.'

'Who ya got in there?' Leroy moves the beam of light across the windscreen. The man beside him steps forward, eyes flicking from Neal to the car.

'Emma and a few of her mates visiting from the city.'

'Who the fuck's Emma?'

'You know, the blonde who hangs out with Mary Margaret.'

Leroy peers at the windscreen and finally speaks. 'The chick with the long legs and elated sense of self worth?'

'Yeah,' Neal says. 'We're taking a few of her mates up to the cabin. Just doing a bit of bush-bashing on the way.'

'Anyone else know about this?' Leroy asks, grinning.

'No, not if I can help it.'

Leroy lifts the shotgun and I hold my breath. I'd been worried about Neal getting hurt by the Rephaim tonight—it hadn't crossed my mind he could get shot by a trigger-happy dwarf. But instead of levelling the barrel at Neal, Leroy uses it to scratch the side of his rough head.

'You sure you haven't got anything interesting in there?' Leroy rests the shotgun on his shoulder.

Neal shakes his head. 'Seriously, mate, I had no idea you and the boys spent so much time in this neck of the woods.'

He's playing this pretty cool. I guess working at The Rabbit Hole has taught him a thing or two about dealing with testosterone-fuelled meatheads.

'Get your mates out so I can see 'em,' Leroy says.

For a few seconds, Neal doesn't move, and then he turns towards the car and signals for us to join him.

I unbuckle my seatbelt. 'Let's just do this so we can get going.'

Killian grunts. 'If he points that rifle at me, it's going up his arse.'

We pile out of the jeep and take up positions either side of Neal. Leroy's gaze goes straight to me, but his friend scours all of us. The torchlight lingers on Red.

He steps forward. 'What happened to your face?'

She levels her gaze at him. 'What the fuck happened to yours?'

It throws him for a second. He blinks, and then looks back to the rest of us. 'What's with all the black?'

'They're from the city,' Neal says, as if that explains why we are dressed like ninjas.

'That'd be right.' We can never have too many arseholes with money coming up here, can we, Leroy? Think we're all dense, don't they?'

Leroy taps the shotgun against his head and shrugs. 'Neal's all right.'

The one called Stealthy points the pickaxe at Neal. 'You wouldn't hang out with wankers, would you, mate?'

'Not if I could help it.'

Not quite a resounding endorsement.

'Present company excepted, of course,' I say, gesturing to the row of brothers. I know I should keep quiet, but we've got places to be.

Leroy eyes me up and down. 'Who asked you? You might wanna watch your mouth, sister.'

He gets that I was being facetious. I'm impressed.

'So,' Stealthy says, shining the torch at Killian. 'You wanna tell me what you are really doing in our neck of the woods?'

'Nope,' Killian says. 'And if you're still blocking my path in another thirty seconds, I'm going to come over there and snap that fat neck of yours.'

Leroy's eyes harden. 'What did you just say?'

'You heard me.'

Leroy swings the gun off his shoulder and points the barrel at Killian's head.

'Hey, mate, calm down.' Neal's hands come up in front of him.

'Fuck that,' Leroy spits. 'Nobody talks to me like that.'

Vic materialises out of the darkness behind the brothers. Neal flinches as Vic knocks two of the dwarfs on the head and they pass out, but Leroy is so fixated on Killian he doesn't notice. The other dwarfs do though. They all murmur and panic as Vic takes out another two.

'What the hell?' Leroy says finally tearing his eyes from Killian just as Killian's elbow comes around, smacking him in the face and knocking him out cold, taking Stealthy with him. Vic has taken care of the rest but for the smallest. He looks over at Vic sensing what is about to happen, breathes far too quickly and passes out. He slumps to the ground like a weltering flower.

'You took your time,' Killian says to Vic. 'Another few seconds of listening to that and I would've had to rip his tongue out.'

Neal is looking from Vic to the dwarfs, jaw slack. 'How…?'

Killian ignores him. He and Vic drag the dwarfs off the track. They lean them against each other with their backs to a large tree. Killian pockets the shells out of the shotgun and leaves the empty weapon across Leroy's thighs. David turns off the torch and sets it within Stealthy's reach.

'You're just going to leave them here?' Neal says.

Killian and Vic are already halfway up the path, so Red goes over to him.

'They won't be out long. We need to go before they come to because next time we won't be so gentle.'

Her hand is on his elbow, gently urging him forward.

'But…' Neal puts one foot in front of the other, his steps stilted. 'He just…appeared.'

David and I glance at each other.

'He's that good,' Red says.

'But he just appeared.'

'Neal.' Red lowers her voice. 'It's night. He's wearing dark clothes, and he's as quiet as a mouse. It all works to his advantage.'

Neal looks around at me. 'Didn't you see it?'

'No,' I lie. 'I was too busy watching what Leroy was doing.'

I go back to the car and collect the bags full of weapons. They're heavy and Red comes over to take one. Neal stares at us, but doesn't move. 'I know what I saw.

IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD

Another half-hour of increasingly steep and winding track, and the five of us come out of the densest part of the forest. The forest itself is covered in darkness. We stop a moment and Neal catches his breath.

Killian readjusts the weapons bag on his shoulder. 'How far?'

'Not far. The cabin's up ahead, another five minutes and it'll be within sight.'

The sky is low, smudged, the moon hidden behind clouds. My eyes have adjusted to the night quickly. The air is cooler up here, fresher than I expected.

'This friend of yours—she knows about us?' Red asks me.

'She knows enough.'

'She's not going to have a meltdown if things get a little weird?'

'She'll be fine.'

I hope. I hope that shifting is the worst Mary Margaret's experienced with Regina.

My pulse kicks up a notch.

A twig snaps under Vic's foot and I jump.

'Sorry.' Neal's torch scans the group. The beam lingers on the duffel bags and then shifts beyond me, where a narrow track disappears into the trees. Pale light passes over palms, ferns and the mottled trunks of old oak trees.

'Stay close to the torch.' Neal sets off. 'And watch where you put your feet.'

David falls into step with him. Vic takes the duffel bag from Red, and they follow.

I breathe in damp leaves and dark soil. This is it.

Killian presses his palm on my lower back, moving me forward. 'Still good?' he asks.

'Yep,' I say, the lie almost convincing me. 'You feel the others yet?'

'We're not close enough.'

I pick my way over tree roots and on to a clear section of path. Killian's hand falls away. 'What if Neal was wrong? What if this isn't the place and it's just a hoax?'

'Then Graham has lead us on a wild goose chase.'

The track twists and turns, but I can see well enough without watching the beam up ahead.

'Maybe we should turn the torch off. We don't really need it.' Maybe it's because I'm so nervous and fidgety that I suggest it.

'You're right: we don't. Your barman does.'

'What? What makes you say—' I don't need to finish the sentence. I can make out each tree and shrub we're passing, even though the torch is well ahead of us. 'Oh.'

'Liam really was the smart one, wasn't he?' There's a smile in his voice.

'Shut up.'

The tension between my shoulders eases a little. If Killian is being a smartarse, he can't be too worried about what's waiting for us at the end of the track.

It feels like we've been hiking through thick undergrowth for a long time when Neal finally stops at the edge of the clearing. A gentle breeze rises from the sea. It cools the sheen of sweat on my neck. We've left the town well behind. No turning back.

'The cabin is a few hundred metres in,' Neal says, his voice low. 'There's lots of rooms in there and the best way to get in is go around the clearing and in though the back. Stick to the map or you'll be wandering around for hours. I can come with you if you want—'

'Go back to town,' Killian says.

'You planning on walking back all the way?'

'We'll make do.'

'What about the dwarfs?' I ask. I don't want Neal coming with us, but I also don't want him facing eight angry men on the way back.

'Don't worry about me. You're the ones who need a getaway plan. David?'

David clears his throat. 'We'll be fine, seriously.'

'How? How are you going to be fine? You have to get Mary Margaret out without one of you getting hurt, and then you have to get out of the forest—'

'The less you know, the better,' David says.

'Don't give me that bullshit.'

'Trust me,' David says. 'It's not bullshit.'

Neal shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 'I want to see her when she's safe. I mean it.'

Killian shrugs his duffel bag further onto his shoulder. 'Can we go now, or do you two need to hug first?'

'You're a dick, you know that? Here—' Neal thrusts a sheet of paper at him.

Red laughs. 'He prides himself on it.'

Neal walks by me as he leaves. 'Be careful,' he says quietly. Then he heads along the trail without a backwards glance.

The sound of a zip pulls my attention to the clearing and the old cabin on the other side of it. One of the duffel bags is open and Vic is handing out knives. Red straps one to each of her upper arms. Killian opens the other bag and passes out katanas to Vic and Red. He hands Liam's to me.

'Any point in giving you one of these?' Killian asks David.

'None at all.'

'Probably works better, anyway.'

'Does that mean you have a plan?'

Killian laughs. 'Dave, anyone would think you had no faith in me.' He re-zips the bag, scans the trees beside the cabin, and checks our surroundings. Then draws us into a circle.

'It's a bit thin on detail,' David says when Killian's finished laying out what we're about to do.

'Got a better idea? No? Let's go then.'

We set off, Killian now in the lead. I catch him in a few steps. 'Won't they feel us when we get close?'

'We didn't shift here, so maybe not. But if they do, they'll only know someone is coming. Not who, or how many.'

I keep the blade of the katana in front of me. 'The same goes for us too, though, doesn't it? We won't know how many of them there are either.'

'Graham's not going to have an army in there. We can take them.'

We round a bend. My stomach dips, like I've stepped offa cliff and into open space.

'Feel that?' Killian asks me. 'You can stop worrying about us not being in the right place.'

He pulls out the paper Neal gave him. I can just make out the markings Killian's pointing to.

We creep forward. I hear faint music before I see lights through the trees. Cabin isn't the right word: what's in front of us is an A-frame house, almost the size of our apartment.

We move through the ferns until we're side-on to the cabin. At the front is a wide deck that steps down to a grassy clearing with a picnic table and benches. Out back, French doors open onto a smaller deck and the forest is pressed close around it. The music is louder now, mellow Spanish guitar. Maybe this isn't the right place. Maybe we're about to destroy someone's romantic weekend in a haunted house—

A figure moves into the open doorway and my heart jolts.

It's Regina.

Killian waves us down, below the ferns.

I watch her from my new position. She's in regulation t-shirt and jeans, with her hair pulled back in a slick ponytail. She's also armed, resting a sheathed sword across her shoulders as she wanders to the far side of the deck, scanning the forest.

Killiam nudges me to get my attention. Then he points to David, and then the house. David nods. Killian holds up two fingers—wait two minutes—and moves off silently towards the front of the cabin.

Davis manages to stay still half that time, his breath shortening, and then crawls in the opposite direction. The rest of us stay put. I try to remember to breathe.

Killian saunters onto the front deck, sword hanging loosely from his right hand. He bangs on the door. On the back deck, Regina's head whips around. She draws her katana and disappears inside. The music stops. I hear muffled voices.

Killian waits, his shoulders loose. He grins when the door opens.

'Buona sera,' he says.

'Where's Emma?' Regina's voice is flinty.

'Hanging out with the barman,' Killian says, spinning the sword hilt in his hand. 'You told her to come at dawn. The new and improved Swan apparently does what she's told.'

'What do you want?'

'To end this bullshit. Swan's not going back to Graham, so you may as well just hand over the hostage now.'

Regina steps out onto the deck, her sword in front of her. Her eyes graze the ferns where we're hiding. 'Who else did you bring?'

'For you and Robin?' He laughs.

'You forget we can grab our guest and—' She snaps her fingers.

'Rumple's okay with you dragging that girl all over the world? Yeah, right. Just cut the crap and bring her out.' He looks past her, into the cabin. 'Ah, Robin. How's the ball sack?'

A movement catches my eye. David, sneaking up to the back of the cabin while Regina and Robin are busy at the front. I'm holding my breath.

He reaches the back door and slips inside.

Time stops. My heart bangs against my ribs. Above me, a bird sings it's beautiful, repetitive call.

David just has to find Mary Margaret, shift with her back here so we know he has her, and then we can all get out of here.

Something smashes inside the cabin.

'I knew it!' Regina says. She and Robin race back into the cabin. Killian shakes his head, glances over at our hiding spot, and follows them inside.

Beside me, Vic lets out his breath slowly. 'Guess it's plan B then.' He and Red exchange a look and disappear, leaving me alone in the ferns.


	21. Chapter 21

IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU

I stay put for about thirty seconds.

Then I slip forward, to the open window. Killian's not going to like it, but what was the point of giving me a sword if he didn't want me to use it?

'So now you've got two human hostages.' Killian's voice. 'Great work at keeping a low profile.'

I press my back against the cabin, one hand against the smooth wall, the other strangling the katana.

'He shouldn't be here.' Regina.

'He's her boyfriend. What did you think he was going to do?'

I hold my breath and peer between the timber shutters, my face in the shadows.

Mary Margaret.

Drawing short breaths. Her green eyes wide.

Regina has Mary Margaret in front of her, the tip of her sword at Mary Margaret's throat. Mary Margaret's face is streaked with tears and her hands are bound tightly in front of her, but she doesn't seem to be hurt.

A guy I've never seen before is restraining David. He's tall, well built—as all the Rephaim seem to be—with smooth brown hair and a light layer of stubble on his jaw. They're in a large room with a fireplace built into one of the walls and weapons line the walls. A trap door is open in the corner of the room and a staircase leads down under the forest floor. Mary Margaret and her guard must have been downstairs when David went in.

There's no sign of Robin. I bet that punch-happy prick is already back at the Sanctuary, raising the alarm.

David is so close to Mary Margaret. Why doesn't he just lunge for her and shift? We'd factored in he might get caught. The plan can still work if he does something right now.

But he's frozen.

I should have seen this coming. David doesn't want to show them what he is. Maybe because he fears the Rephaim. Maybe because he's seen Mary Margaret and realised she might not be quite so open-minded now about the offspring of the Fallen.

'This is on your head, Killian. You brought him here,' Regina says.

Why haven't Red and Vic shown themselves? If they're waiting for something, I should keep my head down too. But we'd agreed that if David's move didn't work, our next option was to fight. And as much as I don't want to use this sword, I'd rather do that than nothing. I need Mary Margaret to know we've come for her. I need to see that fear leave her face. I need—

Sharp steel presses against my throat.

'You're early.'

Robin. Fuck.

'I couldn't wait to see you.'

'I don't suppose you want to come back to the Sanctuary now, and save all the drama?'

'Um, no thanks.' My hand tightens on my sword.

He sighs. 'Come on, then.' He pulls me back from the window. 'Drop the weapon.'

I can't let him disarm me. I have to do something. I have to—

Don't think.

I duck sideways. Robin's blade nicks my throat as I break his grip. I have time to get my balance and swing at his shoulder. He blocks the strike, and the impact reverberates up my arm. It hurts…and then that strength I felt in the cage pours back into me, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I grab the hilt with two hands and swing again. Again he blocks me, but this time he has to step back to absorb the blow.

'You got lucky in the cage.' He pushes me back.

I swing at his head. He blocks.

'Your technique is terrible,' he says. And yet he's not racing in to attack me.

Swing. Block.

'You're going to get hurt—'

In the light spilling from the cabin, I bring the blade down again, this time with one hand. He needs two hands to block the strike, leaving him wide open, and I punch him in the jaw.

He reels back. I press my throbbing knuckles against my thigh.

Robin gives his jaw a quick rub, still backing away. 'But you're not…'

I shrug. 'I know.'

Lily and Killian might be onto something about residual memory in my body. But why is Robin retreating? I'm holding my own against him, but he's still quicker.

Inside, Killian curses and then Regina and Mary Margaret materialise behind Robin, setting off a flock of birds in the nearby trees. The screeching almost drowns Mary Margaret out.

'Emma!'

'Mary Margaret!'

Our eyes meet. In that fleeting moment, I try to convey everything I feel for her. Everything I'm prepared to do to save her. She lets out a small sob.

Regina glances into the cabin. Her face is bathed in soft light. 'Killian's gone?'

Mary Margaret's guard emerges, pinning David's arms behind him as he pushes him to the floor. 'Yeah.'

Regina smiles. 'Wrong choice again, Emma. When will you learn?'

I ignore her.

Killian wouldn't give up that easily. I know the original plan has gone to shit, but he wouldn't leave me here. Would he?

Mary Margaret's guard is staring at me.

'Now do you believe it's her?' Regina says to him.

His face breaks into a smile. 'Looking good for a dead woman, Em.'

Regina gives him a withering look. 'She has no idea who you are, August. Focus.'

In the moment of Regina turning to August, Mary Margaret tries to run straight into the dark. Regina has her again almost at once. She grabs a handful of her hair, jerks her head back to expose her neck. The blade still hasn't broken skin, but another move from Mary Margaret and she's going to bleed.

Her eyes are wild, begging me.

'Just put down that sword and come with us like a good girl,' Regina says. 'Don't make me hurt you again.'

I risk a quick look at David. 'You okay?'

He stares at me, breathing way too fast.

Is this an act, or has he really lost the plot? Maybe close contact with this many Rephaim was more than he was ready for.

'You made a deal,' Regina says. 'There was a time your word meant something.'

I move towards her. 'I'm pretty sure there was a time my friends didn't torture me either.'

I'm edging closer and she's watching every step. I don't know exactly what I'm going to do when I get to her, but I'm only going to get one shot at it.

The shadows in the forest beyond Regina shimmer.

'Oh, give me a break.'

Graham steps into the light, flanked by four other Rephaim.

A PACK OF BASTARDS

'Killian is nothing if not predictable.' Graham stops beside Regina. Unarmed. He mustn't be planning on getting his hands dirty tonight. 'I knew he wouldn't be able to follow instructions.'

The guys with him are armed. Three are carrying shiny katanas, but the fourth is spinning a poleaxe.

A freaking poleaxe.

They all falter when they see me. The poleaxe stops moving.

Graham glances over his shoulder. The birds are quietening. 'Stay sharp,' he says.

The first to recover is a brown head man with a pencil mustache and goatee. 'Emma Swan,' he says. 'I had to see it to believe it.'

Regina's still got Mary Margaret. August is right beside her, sword at David's throat. I'm badly outnumbered. I need time, for either David to get his arse into gear, or the others to come back.

'And who the hell are you?' I ask the man.

'Phillip,' he says slowly, like he doesn't quite believe I don't know him. Another one of the Five.

Graham breaks in. 'You brought him?'

I watch Graham as he studies David. Does he recognise him from the Sanctuary last night? Does he know what David is? He can't. He'd be making a bigger deal out of it.

'And you, Emma. You seemed surprised to see me. Did you think I wouldn't find out you'd arrived earlier than instructed?'

'I should have known Robin would go running to you.'

'Robin didn't desert his post.'

'Then how did you know I was here?'

Graham almost smiles. 'Text message.'

Of course.

'Now, drop the weapon and come to me, and your two friends can leave.'

'Save your breath,' Regina says. 'She never intended to keep the deal.'

Graham's eyebrows lift. 'Really? I'm disappointed.'

But clearly not surprised, given who he's brought with him.

'You had your chance to accept my offer when I was in Italy. You seriously think I'm going back with you for more cage time?'

'You set the terms of this exchange, and I intend to keep them.'

'Your word's worth about as much as mine at this point.'

I catch David's attention. He's not that far from Mary Margaret. Any time now would be good…

Air stirs behind me. Why wasn't I watching my back?

'Just me,' Killian says, before I can strike out. My heart gives two hard thumps and then settles back to racing.

'Where have you been?'

'Just waiting to see who Pretty Boy would turn up with.' He says it more to Graham than me.

'Do you think you're good enough to take them?' Graham gestures to the men around him.

'Sure.' Killian stands shoulder to shoulder with me. 'Assuming you haven't enlisted another hell-turd. What the hell were you thinking, keeping one of those things?'

'What happens at the Sanctuary is none of your concern, Killian.' Graham gives Killian a dismissive once-over. 'You really think you're still good enough to take on this many disciplined soldiers?'

Killian grins. 'I've got Swan, remember?'

'I don't know if you've noticed, but that's not the Emma you remember.'

'From what I hear, she's still got a few moves. I'll take my chances.'

'This is just a game to you, isn't it? Tell me, does Emma know your agenda?'

'What agenda would that be?'

'To use her to find the Fallen.'

Killian gives a short laugh. 'That's your grand plan, not mine.'

'Are you telling me the Outcasts are no longer interested in the Fallen? I find that hard to believe.'

'I don't give a toss what you believe.'

'Have you at least told her what Milah plans to do if the Fallen are found?'

'Not my problem.'

'You don't think she has a right to know?' Graham's gaze locks on me. 'The people you have aligned with want to join the Fallen and make war on the Host of Heaven.'

I check Mary Margaret. She's frozen, eyes vacant. Oh, please hang in there. I turn to Graham.

'Firstly,' I say, 'I haven't aligned myself with anyone. And secondly, I've never met Milah and honestly couldn't give two shits about her, or her plans.'

A pitying smile. 'If only it was that simple. It's why you didn't leave with your brother, Emma. You could see Milah's path would only lead to death and destruction, and you'd be no better than the demons who hunt us. If the Fallen make war on the Host of Heaven, the battle will take place in this earthly realm, and it will be humans caught in the crossfire.'

'Earthly realm,' Killian mimics. 'You say that like there are other realms you're familiar with. Have you found a way to other dimensions since we parted company? Have you seen a war between angels? No? It sounds to me like you've swallowed a fresh batch of Rumple's bullshit.'

The night shifts around us, loaded with violence and recrimination and fear. I need to focus, but it's not easy. It's one thing to come to terms with the fact I'm not entirely human. But angelic wars on earth?

'You think you've got all the answers,' Killian continues, 'but as usual you've got no idea what's really going on.'

Graham's lips twist. 'So, you're helping Emma for old time's sake? Not because her current situation might provide the only chance you'll ever have of bedding her?'

'Bedding her? Bloody Hell, Graham, we're in the twenty-first century. Your wardrobe's caught up—don't you think it's time the rest of you did?'

'Stop this,' I snap. 'Mary Margaret and David have nothing to do with any of this. Let them go.'

'He always intended this to be a fight,' Killian says. 'That's why he made sure I knew you were coming here. Even Graham's not deluded enough to think you'd go back with him. This little scenario is about dragging you back to Rumplestiltskin, unconscious, and inflicting as much pain as possible on me.'

Graham's smile is thin. 'I didn't want any of this, but if you end up injured with no one to heal you, then so be it.'

The air moves behind me again.

'Everyone still getting along then?' Vic says, dropping into a fighter's stance beside Red.

Graham's nostrils flare. 'You think two extra swords will make a difference tonight?'

'If you play by the rules,' Red says.

Graham looks genuinely indignant. 'We fight with honour. Can you say the same?'

'Everyone fights with honour until they're losing. And we rarely lose, Graham.'

She's good. Was I ever that cool under pressure?

Killian looks at me. 'Ready?'

I don't have time to say no before Graham flicks his wrist and the four Rephaim who came with him charge us.

PARTY CRASHERS

Phillip picks me out. Regina shoves Mary Margaret at August and runs at me too.

Killian cuts her off, and I have time to see him block her first strike before I have more pressing issues of my own—the flash of steel at my right shoulder. I leap out of the way, but the tip of Phillip's sword catches me on the way through. It cuts through fabric and nicks my arm.

It stings, but there's no time to think.

I react before he's fully recovered from the follow-through, forcing him on the back foot. Phillip deflects the strike, and then punishes me with a hail of blows from every direction. It takes all my strength to block them. The birds are screeching again but there's so much blood rushing in my ears I can barely hear them. Everything is noise. Our swords clash near the hilt, and he uses his momentum to push me back against the railing of the deck. His breath is hot on my face, thick with coffee and frustration.

'What are you doing with Killian?' He's panting. 'And why are you fighting against us?'

Doesn't he know? 'Graham thinks I'm lying about my memories'—I drag in more breath, my chest burning—'and thought feeding me to a hellion would help.'

Phillip winces, but of course this isn't news to him. I struggle against his crushing weight. He pushes back harder. 'You don't remember me?'

'No.'

'You seem to remember all my moves.'

He's braced his feet apart to pin me to the railing. It's all the invitation I need.

'Just luck,' I say, and slam my knee into his groin.

His legs buckle and he staggers sideways.

'Hamstring him!' Killian shouts.

He's fending off Regina, Robin and another Rephaite, alternating between sword strikes, punches and kicks. They're all moving so fast, but Killian's holding his own, even outnumbered.

Hamstring something other than a hell-beast? Am I quick enough? What if Mary Margaret sees? Mary Margaret.

Regina left her to August. He's got Mary Margaret and David.

I search the chaotic shadows for them.

In that brief moment, Phillip recovers and smashes the katana from my hand. It flies over the handrail into the forest. Even he seems surprised at how easy it was. His sword's poised in the air…He doesn't bring it down. 'I can't,' he says, lowering the weapon. 'This is insane.'

I'm so focused on the lowering blade that I don't see his foot coming at me until his boot smashes into my jaw. And then I'm airborne.

The ferns don't break my fall.

All the breath goes out of me, and I lie there, absorbing the pain in my head and shoulder. I move my jaw from side to side. It throbs, but I don't think it's broken. My arm and neck are sticky with blood. I roll over, crawl along the ground, trying not to give myself away. I'm not slinking away: I want Liam's sword.

The fighting continues around the cabin as I forage in the damp soil. My fingers touch leather and I grip the katana and climb to my feet, but the sight of what's happening on the deck stops me in my tracks.

The Rephaim are going to town on each other with swords and the poleaxe. It's a full-on brawl. Phillip and another guy are tag-teaming against Vic, but he's fast enough to protect himself, and Red is confusing the guy with the poleaxe with a barrage of kicks.

Killian has Regina and Robin backed into the far corner of the deck. He's got a sword in each hand now, swinging both with relentless efficiency. Regina is bleeding from her left eye and Robin favours his right leg. I can't tear my eyes from Killian. So much power and violence…Was I really like that? And was there ever a time when these people were on the same side? They're fighting each other with such intensity.

Graham is watching it all from the doorway of the cabin, feet apart and arms folded, eyes flitting between the skirmishes and the point where I disappeared. Through the railing, I can see one of Graham's soldiers sprawled on the deck. I'm guessing it's his sword Killian is now using in his double-handed assault. The injured Rephaite lifts his head, makes brief eye contact with Graham, and disappears.

Across the deck, Mary Margaret and David are sitting against the cabin, an arm's length apart. August is prowling back and forth in front of them, the tip of his sword close enough to be threatening. But he's only got one eye on them—he's more interested in the fighting. I only need to distract him, and possibly slap David, and we can get this plan back on track.

Graham is the only one who notices when I climb back up over the handrail, and he seems more interested in what I'm going to do than in stopping me. My feet hit the deck and I take off, katana in hand.

August sees me, and waits, feet apart, tossing his sword from one hand to the other.

I'm halfway to him when a gun blast tears through the dark behind me. I turn and stumble. A second shot rings out, sending the birds into a frenzy. The fighting on the deck stops and all heads turn to the clearing. The Rephaim each step away from their opponents, like this has been a training session and someone just called time-out. No one seems anxious, so I stay on my feet.

Nine figures emerge out of the darkness, walking across to the cabin.

'What the hell are you brothers doing?' Leroy shouts, his shotgun pointed at the deck. The nine of them are shoulder to shoulder: Leroy and Stealthy in the middle—Stealthy now toting a rifle—and Neal squeezed between them.

They've reached the edges of the light from the cabin. I can see the whites of Neal's eyes from here. Whatever he was expecting to catch us doing, this wasn't it.

'Hold position,' Graham orders as he leaves the doorway, which I assume means: don't shift in front of the humans. He makes his way across the deck, shooting me a warning look as he passes. I follow anyway, and stop beside Killian.

Neal spots me. His gaze drops to the katana and his mouth falls open. Then he tries to see past me. 'Mary Margaret! Mary Margaret, you here?'

'Shut up!' Stealthy turns on him and he takes a step back. Neal didn't orchestrate this surprise visit. This is all The Dwarf's show.

Mary Margaret is on her feet, her hands still tied. David struggles to join her, but August is right there, shoving him back to the deck, away from her.

'Neal, get out of here!' Mary Margaret shouts.

August pushes her down, pressing the sword tip against her throat to stop her trying again. He gives her an apologetic smile. But all Neal sees is Mary Margaret being manhandled, and he rushes forward.

'Get back here!' Leroy bellows, but Neal only stops when Killian blocks his path, swords held out either side of him.

'Not a smart move,' Killian says.

Neal's gaze flicks between the swords. 'They were waiting for me. They were in the car and were trying to stop me from leaving.' His voice cracks. 'They all had pixaxes—'

'You should have risked your chances with the axe before leading them here,' Killian says.

'Oi!' Leroy says. 'Got a gun here. You should be talking to me.'

'And I'm in charge,' Graham says. 'So you should be talking to me.'

The Rephaim have split into two camps: Regina, Robin, Phillip and the others have fallen in behind Graham; Vic and Red are with Killian and me. August holds his position at the cabin.

'So, what can we do for you?' Graham asks Leroy, all charm.

The noise in the trees is easing, which at least means Leroy can stop shouting. 'First up, I wanna know why you boys are up here playing ninjas. And second, I wanna take a piece out of him'—he points the shotgun at Killian— 'for this egg on my head and the ones on my brothers.'

Graham spreads his hands wide on the deck railing. 'Please feel free to settle any score you may have.'

'Actually,' Vic says, holding up a hand, 'that was me.'

Leroy's eyes narrow. 'Don't worry, big fella, you'll get your turn.'

Clearly he thinks two guns and half a dozen pixaxes trump a dozen swords and the Rephaim wielding them.

This could all go bad very quickly.

'What about Mary Margaret?' Leroy asks. He's trying to see beyond Graham and his small army. 'Neal says you took her.'

'Which one is Neal?' Graham asks.

Stealthy waves his rifle in Neal's direction.

'That's the guy Emma was all over,' Regina says through a fat lip. 'The barman.'

Graham considers him. 'No one here is of any concern to you.'

'Mary Margaret is of concern to me.' Neal's voice is almost steady. 'Let her go before I call the sherif.'

'No police,' Stealthy says, still a few metres away. 'Listen, mate,' he says to Graham. 'Give us five minutes with these two arseholes'—he gestures to Killian and Vic—'and we'll be on our way with Mary Margaret.'

Neal's attention is on my newly bruised face. Graham doesn't miss his reaction.

'Don't worry about Emma, she can take care of herself.'

'Seems that way,' Neal says. 'I didn't know you could fight.' There's a hint of accusation in his voice.

'Me either.'

His gaze drops to my neck. 'Which one of these bastards hurt you last night?'

I use my free hand to cover the scar with my ponytail. 'You should be more worried about getting The Dwarfs out of here before someone gets killed.'

'What's with the swords? Who are these people?'

'We've got this. Now run along,' Killian says. He's still between Neal and me, but has at least lowered his swords.

And then everything goes quiet. No cicadas. Not a peep from the birds. No sounds of life. Nothing. Even Leroy falls silent.

Killian stares into the forest, beyond the clearing. One by one, the Rephaim turn away from The Dwarfs and raise their weapons.

'What is it?' I say to Killian.

He jerks his head for Neal to get behind him. Neal does it without arguing. 'Possibly a very large shit storm.'

Whatever's coming, it's not following the path in the forest. I've had enough surprises emerge out of the darkness tonight that nothing should shock me. But the Rephaim, who were trying to maim each other just minutes ago, are now standing side by side. Graham has moved next to Killian, and Killian hasn't taken a swing at him. This can't be good.

Two tall figures appear between the trees. The ferns that reached my waist are at their thighs. The vegetation barely moves as they stride towards us. I let my breath out slowly. There's only two of them. We outnumber them.

And then two hellions lumber out of the darkness behind them.


	22. Chapter 22

TIME TO FACE YOUR DEMONS

My heart stops. I can't even form the question, but I already know the answer.

Graham and Killian step forward. They glance at each other, not speaking.

'Have you two reconciled? How touching.' The voice is deep and smoky, and comes from one of the two figures.

I force myself to keep breathing. Maybe if I'd never seen a hellion up close, I might mistake one for a bear in this light. A bear would be a less of a bizarre sight in Stotybrooke than a creature that shouldn't exist. Their chain mail glints…Oh, god, please don't let Mary Margaret see them.

'What the hell?' Leroy says. Fortunately, nobody's interested in him right this second.

'Our boys here miss their brother.' The second voice is as deep as the first. 'We are here to collect our pet.'

Killian speaks to Graham without turning his head. 'This is why we don't play with hellions.'

'You're the one who shifted with Emma when she was covered in its blood.'

Killian grinds his teeth. 'Yeah? Well, how'd they track us here?'

I almost grasp the significance of their exchange, and then the two figures step into the clearing near the picnic table and my mind goes blank.

There's a whimper behind me. I don't have to look to know it's Mary Margaret.

The new arrivals are close in appearance to be relations of some kind. They are pale and beautiful, only one of them has a thick, ugly scar across his cheek that rivals both mine and Red's. Both are broad shouldered and have dark brown hair. There's something about the way they look that doesn't seem quite…real. And their eyes…The irises are on fire.

Demons.

Of course demons are real. If angels and hellions exist, then demons must too. It wasn't that long ago I thought hellions and demons were one and the same, and that I'd made them up.

I miss those days.

'And who are these jerks?' There's the tiniest waver in Leroy's voice. The other seven dwarfs shuffle behind him and stare bugeyed at the hellions, now standing at their full height. They're taller than the demons, and both are sniffing the air like hunting dogs, smelling us.

Leroy suddenly swings the barrel of his shotgun to point at the hellions. The movement catches the attention of the demons, who notice The Dwarfs for the first time.

'How thoughtful,' the first says. 'Snacks for our boys.'

'You will not touch these men,' Graham says.

The demon smiles without a trace of warmth, showing perfect teeth. 'Of course, they prefer Nephilim blood.'

Graham stiffens. 'We do not acknowledge that name.'

'That does not make it any less the truth.' The second demon gestures to himself. 'Any more than this appearance makes us human. You are the bastard children of the Fallen. You are Nephilim.'

'We transcend that label through our obedience to the Angelic Garrison. We are Rephaite.'

'You are Rumplestiltskin's puppets,' the second demon says. 'As I have told you a thousand times.'

'And you have never had a thought The Shadow didn't put in that abyss between your ears—'

'Are you serious?' Killian says. 'You still have to have this argument every time before a fight? Who gives a crap what these rejects call us?'

He turns to the demons. 'Your pet's dead. So now what? If you came to fight, we'd be spilling your filthy blood already.'

It's a cool evening, yet the demons are wearing jeans and a t-shirt and nothing else. Both have heavy swords hanging from their hips.

'There will only be a fight if you refuse to hand over the twin who has risen from the dead.'

My mouth goes completely dry.

The first demon is staring at me—at least I think he is. It's hard to tell with those flickering orange eyes. 'You were dead,' he says.

Beside me, Killian moves a little closer. 'You say that like it's a fact.'

The demon's lips twist in what is possibly meant to be a smile. 'It is.'

'Obviously it's not. She's standing right here.'

'And a year ago she was dead.'

'How can you be so sure?'

The demon just keeps smiling.

'Walsh, you sulphurous prick, how do you know?'

The demon, Walsh, caresses the hilt of his sword with long spindly fingers. 'Because I put this blade through her neck.'

'Bollocks.'

Graham has gone completely still. I'm waiting for him to say something, but whatever is going through his head, he keeps to himself.

Walsh turns to his companion. 'Is it, Felix? Is it bollocks?'

Felix looks at his own spindly fingers. He looks bored. 'No, it is not. It was the highlight of my time trapped in this rotting realm.'

Blood pounds in my ears. 'Then how the fuck am I alive?'

Everyone on the deck stares at me. Either because I shouldn't be addressing the demons, or because they all want to know the answer.

Walsh's fiery eyes bore into me. 'You are the only one who can answer that.'

'Haven't you heard?' My voice is too loud. 'A week ago, I didn't even know I wasn't human.'

Neal and The Dwarfs are right there, but I can't deal with that right now. I can't look at Neal. Or at Mary Margaret.

'You do not remember your brother begging for your life?'

The night grinds down. It becomes darker, airless.

Did Liam and I take on these demons on our own? Is this pale demon responsible for the scar on my neck? And if Liam begged for my life, and I'm alive, does that mean he's dead?

I prise my lips apart. 'What happened to my brother?'

'Come with us, and we will show you.' It's Felix who makes the offer. Killian's fingers dig into my arm.

'Where did this attack happen?' he asks.

Felix's impassive face finally shifts. 'You still do not know?' He turns towards Graham. 'Surely the Council of Five knew what they were doing? No? Dear me.'

Graham still doesn't answer. What is wrong with him?

Next to the picnic table, the hellions are getting restless, shuffling from one foot to the other. The one beside Walsh is drooling.

'So, the twins were acting without orders from either side,' Felix says. 'That is excellent news. Rumplestiltskin's empire is continuing to crumble.'

'Felix!' Killian snaps. 'How did you find them?'

Felix strokes his hand through his hair. 'The same way we always find your half-breed kind. Through our skill and your laziness. Like tonight.'

'We tracked our hellion's blood to Patmos and then here, to that ripe little town down by the ocean,' Walsh says.

'What happened to Liam?' Killian is still holding on to my arm. It's starting to hurt.

Walsh keeps drumming his fingers on his sword hilt. 'He is our prisoner.'

'Bollocks. You don't have Liam. And you thought Swan was dead, which means you don't remember what happened to her either.'

'Oi!' Leroy calls out. 'I'm gonna put a hole in your mate in the ugly suit if he takes another step towards me.'

The hellion is creeping closer to Leroy, like a dog trying to sneak food.

Walsh smiles. 'Oh, please, be my guest.'

'I mean it.'

The hellion takes another step, and another. Leroy fires. The reverberation of the shotgun forces him back a step. The bullet penetrates the chain mail, but the hellion barely reacts. It snarls and keeps coming at him. It's still drooling.

'Stop!' Graham shouts, but Leroy uses the pump action to reload, and fires again.

'Come on!' he screams.

The hellion charges.

'Leroy!' The rest of the dwarfs scramble backwards. 'Move!'

Leroy has time to reload one last time before the hellion smashes the shotgun from his hands and wraps him in a bear hug, sinking its razor-sharp teeth into Leroy's thick neck.

I'M NOT SCARED…

Killian takes one look at Graham, tosses him his spare sword, and they disappear. One second they're on the deck, the next, they're down in the clearing. Walsh is ready for them, blocking the first strike as soon as Killian and Graham materialise. The night explodes into violence.

There's no division among the Rephaim now—they move together as a single unit. Phillip and Red go after the hell-spawn latched onto Leroy. Vic and Robin team up to attack Felix, and Regina and the other Rephaim circle the remaining hellion.

It's mesmerising and terrifying.

And then I remember.

'David!'

He looks up from the chaos in the clearing.

'NOW!'

He doesn't have to be told twice.

August is watching the fighting, only half paying attention to Mary Margaret. Even when he sees David dash to Mary Margaret—hands untied—he doesn't react. He thinks he's got plenty of time.

David puts his arms around Mary Margaret, says something in her ear, waits an agonisingly long second. And then they disappear.

August stares at the empty space, then up at me. I shrug. He shakes his head, and then bolts across the deck and vaults over the handrail into the fray.

'Emma!'

Neal peers out the door of the cabin. In all the chaos, he's managed to get inside.

'Come on,' he says, gesturing wildly. 'We can get out the back.' He sticks his head out a little further. 'Where's Mary Margaret?'

'She got away with David.'

'Then let's go.' He grabs my wrist.

I glance back over my shoulder. I'd thought the fighting between the Rephaim had been full-on. But this… The demons are almost a blur, they move so fast, and the hellion—at least the one I can still see—is a lot more agile than the one I faced in the cage. And Mary Margaret is safe now, so there's no reason to stay. And yet…

'You go,' I say to Neal, pulling loose from his grip.

'Are you insane? Come on!'

David appears behind him in the middle of the room, already moving before he's fully arrived. Neal turns to see what I'm looking at.

'What the…'

David doesn't break stride. He looks rattled. I guess Mary Margaret didn't cope so well with the unexpected shift.

Neal backs away, hands out in front of him. 'Mate…' he says.

But David has him by the wrist—and they're gone.

Outside, Killian and Graham have forced Walsh past the picnic table, towards the forest. The demon is fast and strong, but Killian is almost his match. Graham's no slouch either. They might despise each other, but they know how to fight together, tag-teaming, keeping the demon on the defensive.

Vic and Robin aren't doing quite so well against Felix. The left sleeve of Robin's shirt is shiny with blood, and when he next dodges a strike, I see a deep cut in his upper arm. Vic's still moving freely, but he's a little too big to be quick enough to take advantage if the demon drops his guard. What he needs is a third fighter.

I'm running down to the before I think about it.

I leap off the deck—and August cannons into me.

He's airborne, so I know it wasn't intentional. By the time we scramble to our feet, there are three more demons in the clearing.

Where did they come from? They're standing at the edge of the forest, swords hanging loosely from bony fingers, watching the clash with their fiery eyes. There's no way the Rephaim have the numbers to take them.

Regina is still trying to hamstring the hellion, but most of her efforts are focused on dodging its black talons. The hell-beast is herding her towards the new arrivals. She doesn't know what's behind her.

'Heads up!' Robin shouts.

Regina glances over her shoulder. It's time enough for the hellion to reef the sword out of her hand and pounce on her. It sinks its teeth into her neck. Her scream is bonechilling. Her body goes limp, paralysed by the ferocity of the hellion's appetite. Pulling the life out of her with sickening efficiency.

After everything she's done to me, it should feel like payback.

It doesn't.

Robin breaks away from his fight to charge the hellion. I'm right beside him. One of the newly arrived demons comes at us—quick and silent—and Robin leaps around the hellion and Regina to meet him. That leaves me. I swing at the back of the hellion's legs as hard as I can. The sword slices into its flesh. It drops to one knee and snarls. I jerk the blade out.

The beast throws Regina aside and slashes at me. I jump out of its reach, holding the katana with two hands now, waiting for the charge. The hellion hauls itself to its feet, favouring one leg. Regina's trying to get up, but all the fight's gone out of her. She slumps back to the ground.

'Get up!' I yell at her. 'I can't do this on my own!'

She nods in the direction of the forest. I risk a look, and see August leading another half-dozen Rephaim, armed with swords, knives and maces. I'm really starting to like this guy.

'I've got your back,' a voice says behind me. It's Lily, half-crouched, staring down the hellion. 'No way I was staying out of this one.'

I have time to see she's wielding two weird-looking skinny daggers before she flies through the air, wraps her legs around the hellion's waist and thrusts them in either side of its thick neck. The beast roars and digs its claws into her sides, trying to pry her off. It stumbles backwards and collapses to its knees, unable to bear the extra weight on its severed tendon.

Lily pulls her weapons out of the hellion's neck and brings her fists down hard on its wrists.

I race in and smash the hellion in the side of the head with the sword hilt. It lets go of Lily and swipes at me. I change my grip and bring the blade down on its forearm. Something drops to the grass with a dull thud. A clawed hand. The hellion's howling splits the air.

One of the demons swoops forward and grabs the hellion. They both disappear. I back up against the deck, catching my breath.

At least one of the guys who came with Lily and August is already down, clutching his stomach. Graham is shouting at him to shift, but the new guy seems not to hear him. Robin is still fighting, but his whole arm is covered with blood now, and Vic is bleeding from his ear. There are flashes of movement in the forest beyond. Phillip and Red are still trying to bring down the hellion that bit Leroy. Are the dwarfs still alive, or are they bleeding to death while half-angels and demons butcher each other?

Why are the Rephaim still here? Why hasn't Graham called a retreat? Right now, he's fighting alongside Robin, leaving Killian on his own with Walsh. Lily's up again and racing at the nearest demon, her sides still torn and bloody.

I grab Regina by the arm and pull her out of the way. Her neck is punctured and her throat and clothes are slick with bright blood. Her eyes keep rolling back into her head.

'Shift!' I yell at her.

She tries to focus on me. 'Not without orders.'

'You'll bleed out.'

She shows me her teeth, also covered in blood. 'Doubt it.'

I can't leave her here. The first demon to get close enough will take her head. I position myself between her and the ongoing battle.

A demon materialises in front of me. It's more good luck than skill that I get my sword up to block the first strike. Lily is next to me before he strikes again, and together we fend off an onslaught of blows. My arms feel like lead. Every cut on my body stings. Except, they're not just stinging. They're tingling—along with every other inch of my skin.

The clearing blazes with white-blue light.

'Enough.'


	23. Chapter 23

NOTHING LIKE A HOLLOW VICTORY

The voice cuts through the clashing swords. I dive away from the demon, turning my face from the blinding light. I hit the grass, and shield my eyes. What the…?

The demon is silhouetted against the glare, turned away from its source. Lily and I lash out at the back of his legs. Both blades strike flesh. The demon cries out—sounding so human my skin prickles—and then shifts.

I collapse back to the grass, panting. Exhausted. Relieved. And only then do I notice the fighting has stopped.

'Hold your position.' The voice is commanding, but not quite as sharp as before.

'Lily?' I whisper between short breaths.

'It's Rumplestiltskin.'

She hauls me to my feet. The white-blue light has softened, but the clearing is still lit up. The sky has vanished. Walsh and Felix are at the edge of the forest, where they first appeared, a third demon with them. The other Rephaim are behind Rumplestiltskin, including Regina, who can't stand up. Lily's grip leaves mine as soon as I'm steady, and I don't have time to look around for her before she appears with the others behind Rumplestiltskin.

Killian and Vic are in the clearing with me, and we're all that stands between the demons and the rest of the Rephaim.

I'm trying not to stare at Rumplestiltskin—and failing.

He's a fallen angel.

He stands at the same height as the demons. And the white-blue light is coming from him. Not from something he's holding, but from him. Like an angel on a Christmas card. Except instead of robes or a tunic, he's in a suit. His brown hair is littered with grey streaks, and is cut to his shoulders, shaggy against his face. He's holding a sword that's throwing off as much light as he is.

I don't know what I was expecting him to look like, but this isn't it.

He's an angel. That makes him what? Thousands of years old, at least. And it sounds like he's raised the Rephaim like a high school principal, so I was expecting someone grim and authoritarian. Not someone radiating power and stands with such confidence.

'The twin is no longer yours,' one of the demons says, shielding his flaming eyes, even though Rumplestiltskin's light is not as blinding as it was. I think it's Walsh, but now there are three of them side by side, it's hard to tell. 'We're taking her.'

I see Rumplestiltskin's eyes. Where the demons' irises are orange, his flicker an icy blue. 'Why?'

'Because The Shadow wants her.'

My heart stumbles.

'Mr Walsh, you know very well I don't care what The Shadow wants.' Rumplestilskin's voice is as I remember it in the Sanctuary treatment room.

Walsh's lip curls, revealing unnaturally white teeth. 'You will when he finds your brothers.'

The demon next to Walsh—possibly Felix—raises the tip of his sword and licks blood from it. 'We have devised new torments for your return to the Pit, Rumplestiltskin,' he says.

'The Fallen may well return to the Pit, but it will not be by your hand, Mr Felix. The Garrison will decide the fate of Semyaza and those who follow him, not a gutter rat like The Shadow.'

Felix laughs. 'You cannot believe your fate is no longer tied to your brothers. Nothing you do in this realm changes what you are. Remember that.'

Graham is rigid beside Rumple, his shirt skewed and face bleeding. It's the most crumpled I've seen him. None of the Rephaim are checking their wounds, or their wounded. They're tensed, weapons ready.

My attention drifts to Walsh. He meets my gaze, and the skin on the back of my neck prickles. He smiles, and taps his sword hilt twice with his thumb. He and the other two disappear. I can't believe they're going to leave without—

A brightly lit figure materialises in front of me and shoves me backwards.

'Hold position!' Rumplestiltskin shouts at his Rephaim, at the same time the three demons appear where I was just standing. He blocks their flashing swords.

Killian and Vic close ranks around me, weapons ready.

Rumplestiltskin is as quick as the demons. He moves like the laws of gravity don't apply to him, and his blazing sword, broader and heavier than any of ours, flashes so fast I can't see it, until it is buried in Walsh's collarbone. The demon collapses under the weight of the blow and is still screaming when Rumplestiltskin puts a boot on his chest and shoves him backwards, jerking the sword free.

The air around Rumple shimmers and brightens, and he starts to…expand. I stumble backwards and fall, but keep my eyes on that blazing shape. I blink. I'm starting to make out detail in the glare. It's not Rumplestiltskin getting bigger, it's two massive wings unfurling either side of him.

'GO!' one of the demons calls, his voice so loud I feel it in my ribcage.

A few seconds later, the wings are gone, along with the white-blue light. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. After the brilliance of Rumplestiltskin's light, everything else is dark.

Killian is beside me, breathing heavily and favouring one leg as he helps me up.

Rumplestilskin waits until he has Killian's attention.

'There are humans here?' he asks him.

'Eight pixaxe, gun wielding idiots.' Killian says. 'Hell-turd bit one. Red and Phil went after them.'

'Please call him Phillip, Mr Jones. You know he is a member of the Council of Five now.'

'Fights like it too.' Killian's all attitude with Rumple, but he can't quite maintain eye contact.

'Do you not think you should find these humans?' Rumplestilskin asks.

Killian straightens. 'I'm not the one—'

'I'll go,' Vic says before Killian can finish. No doubt he's more concerned with helping Red than stopping an argument between Killian and Rumple. He jogs along and vaults over the rail. It's quiet again, peaceful.

Rumplestilskin signals for August to step forward.

'Please fetch the healers.'

The tall, brown haired Rephaite disappears.

The other Rephaim haven't moved from their positions. Even Lily stands waiting for orders, despite the fact she's bleeding heavily from her punctured sides.

Finally, the fallen angel turns his attention to me. I crane my neck to meet his gaze. Those flickering eyes, there's something strangely soothing about them. I have to remind myself he's sanctioned everything that's happened to me in recent days.

'They will not stop coming for you, Miss Swan.'

'What just happened?' I ask. 'Why did they leave like that?'

Rumple regards me for a moment. 'Demons cannot stand to be in an angel's presence when we reveal ourselves in glory. In full glory, abyss sludge like Mr Walsh would combust at the mere sight of me. Sadly, I no longer wield that power.'

'But when you showed your wings—' I stop. Rumplestilskin has wings.

'It's enough to banish bottom-dwellers like Mr Walsh and Mr Felix.'

I dab at a cut on my face. 'The Shadow is their, what, boss?'

'He is their lieutenant.'

'But didn't he manage to keep you chained up? How long were you down there?'

'Thousands of years.' He doesn't look away. 'There is no glory in hell, so we were without weapons. That is no longer the case.'

Killian is watching me closely, tense, like he's waiting for me to fall at Rumplestiltskin's feet or something.

I take a long, deep breath. The air is heavy with scent of pine and trees. 'What would they have done to me?'

'Tortured you in ways you cannot imagine.' Rumple speaks without hesitation, bringing goosebumps to my arms.

'Because they think, like you do, that I know where the Fallen are?'

He doesn't answer.

'I thought demons were trapped in hell. Why are they in such a rush to go back? And if someone down there has the power to toss them out, why aren't they all running around up here?'

Rumplestilskin's gaze as he considers the question is unnerving. 'There is no simple answer,' he says at last. 'It is true that Lucifer and his followers are imprisoned in the Pit, but that doesn't mean they can't have influence in this realm.' He scans the silent forest for a moment. 'There are many types of demons, and it is more difficult for some than others to leave hell, but not impossible. There are portals, possession…You must remember, though, this world is a shadow playground for demons—one they can only experience in a limited physical form. It's not until the end of time that they will be able to fight the Angelic Garrison in their true form. In the meantime, they have their own dark kingdom in the abyss. It's the only home they know. And while they are in this world, they are vulnerable. Especially against my Rephaim.'

My fingers are wet with blood, and I wipe them on my clothes. 'But aren't demons just fallen angels too? What's the difference between them and'—I catch myself—'your brothers?'

It's Graham who answers, still holding his position with the others. 'Demons fell because they believed they were equal to God. They grew arrogant and despised creation. The sin of the Fallen was that their profound love for God's creation was poisoned by lust. In every other way they were loyal Watchers and holy warriors.'

Rumplestiltskin remains impassive. I can see where Graham learned his emotional control.

'Miaas Swan,' the angel says, 'there's much you need to relearn, and you can only do that safely under my protection. Return with me and allow me to watch over you.'

I let out a startled laugh. 'Are you forgetting what happened the last time I was there?'

'Now that you have a hint of what we are up against, you must understand why we used certain methods to try to reclaim your memories. It did not work, and I give you my word it will not happen again.'

'What's the point? I can't give you what you want. One of your so-called bottom-dwelling demons just said he cut my head off. He knows more than I do. Maybe you should put your efforts into torturing him.'

A tiny crease appears between Rumple's eyebrows. 'Which one?'

'Walsh,' Killian says.

'Did he claim you were alone when this attack took place?'

'No. He said Liam was there. Begging for my life.'

Rumplestiltskin looks to Graham. 'Is this true?'

Graham discreetly straightens his shirt. 'So Walsh claimed.'

The darkness changes. August reappears on the deck with six new Rephaim. Like the others, they're in black, but they're not armed. They all do a double-take when they see me.

'Regina first,' Graham says, and two of the women go to her.

'They're the healers?' I ask Killian.

He nods. 'Soldiers not on rotation get healing duty.'

Of course. No down time at the Sanctuary.

August goes to Lily. There's not much left of her black t-shirt. Her torso is smeared with clotting blood and grass. She puts her thumb and little finger up to her ear, and mouths, 'I'll call you.' August nods a farewell to me, and the two of them disappear.

'Look,' Killian says, and I turn to see Red and Vic coming along the edge of the forest. Vic is carrying Leroy and Red has her fingers pressed to his throat. In their arms, Leroy looks so small. And he's so still.

'Can they shift to help him?'

'No,' Killian says. 'That only works on us.'

Phillip is trailing behind them. He has Stealthy over his shoulder and is swinging something big and grey in his left hand. Bile rises in my throat. It's a hellion head. Phillip tosses the macabre trophy to Robin, who uses his good arm to catch it. When Phillip moves out of the way I can see the rest of the dwarfs, once again unconscious and all leaning slumped against a tree. There's no blood on any of them and they look unharmed, thankfully.

Killian nods his head at the cabin and they take Leroy and Stealthy inside. We follow to see Vic laying Leroy on the couch. Red takes her hand away to check on the wound. His neck is chewed up like it's been through a grinder. Blood seeps from multiple bites, so at least his heart's still beating. But he's a mess: his beard is matted and one eye is swollen. The grey pullover is soaked in blood.

I grab a tea towel from the kitchen and take over applying pressure on the wound. Red checks Leroy's side, gently probing for more damage.

'I think it's just the neck.'

'That's probably enough,' I say. Stealthy is propped up in a wooden chair at the dining table, his head lolled forward. 'How bad is he?'

Vic scoffs. 'Big hero fainted and smacked his head against a tree going down.'

'And the other six.' I ask.

'They'll all survive. They've got nothing to worry about.'

'Except that their brother's been mauled by a hell monster.' I rearrange the tea towel to find a dry section and put pressure back on Leroy's wound. 'He needs to get to a hospital.'

'We can treat him at the Sanctuary,' Graham says, over my shoulder.

'Uh-uh.' I turn to face him and find Rumplestiltskin has come inside too. 'There's a hospital in town,' I say. 'He's not going anywhere but there. His brother's are going too.'

Graham doesn't need to argue for me to know he doesn't agree. 'What if he tries to explain how he got those injuries?'

'Who's going to believe them? The dwarfs are known in town for getting themselves into mischief and coming up with elaborate stories to cover up whatever they've stuck their nose into. No one is going to pay attention.' My muscles are aching now, and a slow throb has started in my cheek. 'Let's get Leroy patched up. Right now, before he loses any more blood.'

'Enough of this,' Killian says, stepping between Graham and me. He signals for Red to take over tea towel duty and sends Vic in Stealthy's direction.

'Come back for the others.' Vic nods at my instruction.

'Where's the medical centre?'

As soon as I tell them, Vic and Red shift with the two dwarfs.

'That was a mistake.' There's an edge to Graham's voice I haven't heard before. He's about to lose his cool.

'This whole thing was a mistake,' Killian says. 'So why don't you all piss off back to Italy and let us clean up your mess.'

'Do you really think you can keep Emma safe?'

'Not your problem.'

'But it is hers.'

Rumple doesn't interrupt their bickering. He's only interested in me.

'Miss Swan,' he says quietly, 'Mr Jones is an exceptional fighter, but he alone can't hold back those who will come for you.'

I meet his eyes. 'Do you remember my mother? My real mother?'

He blinks. 'No.'

'Really?'

'Like all the other women my brothers seduced, she did not survive the birthing.'

I watch the lying, the smoothness of it.

'Every single one died?'

'Yes, Miss Swan, all of them.'

I move to stand beside Killian. 'I'm staying here.'

'In that boring little town?' Graham says.

I straighten my spine but it's all bluff now. I've got nothing left. 'That town is my home.'

'Miss Swan.' Even Rumple's stillness demands attention. 'I understand how confusing this must be, so I will allow you some latitude. You may stay. For the moment.'

Like I need his permission.

'But I will assign Rephaim to watch over you.'

'No.'

'That is not negotiable.'

'Who?'

Rumple's lips curve a little. Possibly a hint of a smile. 'Ms Mills and Mr Hood.'

I look at Killian confused.

'Regina and Robin.' He says filling in the blanks

'Fuck. Off.' I might not want Regina dead, but that doesn't mean I want her in Storybrooke either.

'Language, Miss Swan.'

'They're injured,' I say. But, of course, they won't be for long. 'Well, they're sure as hell not staying with me.'

'They can look after themselves.'

I lean back against the table. I am so tired. I want to get cleaned up and fall into bed. But first, I need to see Mary Margaret.

'I have to go.'

'As you wish.'

I turn to Killian. 'Now?'

Killian looks at Graham when he answers. 'Sure.'

His hand slides around my hips. I think I see Graham's nostrils flare before he gets himself under control.

'Come near my friends again and I'll cut your head off myself,' I say to him.

Graham opens his mouth, as if to respond.

'Let's go.'

The wind howls as I lean into Killian, so anything Graham may have said in parting is lost in the winds whispers.

And then we're in that icy wind again. Killian's arms are around me. Warm. Snug. His fingers in my hair, his heart beating against mine. Usually it's me clinging to him.

This time, he's holding me just as tight.

PRICE TO PAY

We find David alone at the apartment, sitting at the dining room table with his head in his hands. My heart misses a beat.

'Where's Mary Margaret? Is she safe?'

He nods, not looking up.

'Where is she?'

'With Neal.'

I'm holding my breath. I let it out. 'But she's okay?'

'She's fine.'

'Why aren't you with her?'

He lifts his head. His blue eyes are exhausted. 'She doesn't want to be around any of us right now.'

'You just saved her.'

'I'm still not human.'

Killian shakes his head, and mutters something I can't catch. I push him out the way so I can sit down.

'What happened?' I lay the katana between us on the table.

'I asked her if she trusted me before we left the cabin. She said she did, and then I shifted with her. When we got here, she couldn't get away from me quickly enough.'

'Didn't you tell her you've never been a part of the Rephaim?' I ask.

'I didn't get a chance. She wanted me to go back and get Neal.'

'And then you let her walk out? After what just happened?'

David rubs his forehead. 'What else could I do? I wasn't going to force her to stay here with me.'

Killian wanders over to the sink. 'Man up, Dave. She's had a big couple of days.'

Coming from him, that's almost sensitive.

'Do you know where they went?' I ask.

David shrugs. 'The Rabbit Hole, probably.'

So that's where we're going. I stand up as Vic and Red walk through the door. They were polite enough to arrive outside, giving us some sense of normality.

'Where's your friend?' Red asks.

She's still covered in Leroy's blood and is sporting a fading bruise on her cheek, above her scar. I touch my own face. The split skin has mended and my cheek is nowhere near as tender. Killian must have healed me on the way here. He, on the other hand, is still bleeding from the shoulder.

'Gone out for a drink.'

'I don't blame her,' Red says. 'I could go for one myself.'

'What happened with the dwarfs?'

Red rubs her right shoulder, and Vic absently begins to massage the muscle. 'We dropped them off at casualty,' he says. 'An ambulance pulled in as we got there. Red told them we'd been taking a nature hike and found them in the forest. Then we got out of there.'

Killian breathes out heavily. 'Those guys are going to be a problem.'

'What do you want to do about it?'

'Nothing tonight.'

Vic nods. 'We might head back to Mexico for a few hours.'

I find the energy to stand up. 'Thanks, guys. I really appreciate what you did tonight. I know Mary Margaret does too.'

Red is tired, but her smile reaches her eyes. 'It's just good to be on the same side again.' She gives me a quick hug.

Vic holds out his hand as if to shake mine, but when I reach for him, he hauls me to his chest and slaps me between the shoulder blades. 'Hang in there, kid. We've got your back.'

I'm glad they shift quickly, because I'm so tired and emotional right now I might cry. Again.

I pull myself together. 'Are we safe?' I ask Killian.

'For a while. Rumple's backed off for tonight, and the demons won't come into town.'

'Why not?'

'They lost another hellion tonight and they'll think you're under Rumple's protection. They won't be in a hurry to face him again so soon. Not without reinforcements anyway.'

'I need to go to The Rabbit Hole and see Mary Margaret. Will you come with me?'

'Sure.'

'And you?' I ask David.

'I can't take seeing that look in her eyes again tonight.'

'David—'

'I'm going to respect Mary Margaret's wishes. I'll go back to my place so she can come home.'

'I'd rather you were here.'

The pencil that Neal used to draw the map has rolled off the kitchen bench and now lies on the floor. He reaches for it and sets it to spin on the table.

'I mean it,' I say. 'We've still got a few things to sort out.'

He looks at Killian and then back at me. His shoulders sag. 'I'll go home and shower,' he says. 'Then I'll come back.'

'Tonight?'

He sighs. 'Tonight.' But makes no move to go.

I run my fingers through my hair and find the claw marks on my scalp almost healed. The cuts on my neck and arm are pretty good too, no seeping blood. I clean myself up at the kitchen sink. My fingers linger on the hellion bite, and I look around for Mary Margaret's scarf.

'Just wear your hair down,' Killian says.

I take it out and let it fall into place, check myself in the reflection of the microwave. 'Got another plan?'

'It's fine.' Killian turns me towards him and tousles the ends of my hair so it flows over the scar. 'It'll be fine.'

I grab a handful of tissues and gesture to his bleeding shoulder. He looks down and shrugs. I gently dab at the wound. He watches me, his eyes dark in this light. Then he takes the bloodied tissues from me and tosses them into the bin. I catch David's attention one last time.

'See you back here in an hour.'

He nods.

'I don't care if Mary Margaret is talking to you or not. You and I are finishing that conversation.'

Killian raises his eyebrows at me.

'Later,' I say and head out the door, and into the outside world.


	24. Chapter 24

DON'T FREAK OUT…

I pause on the pavement looking around Storybrooke and breathing in its familiar smells.

'Do you want to cheat?'

Killian is so close I feel his breath on my neck. I lean against him. I feel his heartbeat as he wraps his arms around me, and then the pavement is gone, and I'm crushed again by cold and noise. And then it's over. We're behind a garbage skip out the back of the bar, stale beer and rum in the air.

I disentangle myself from Killian, surprised at how little dizziness I feel this time, and walk up the narrow alley between the bar and the neighbouring shop. I straighten my clothes before I step out onto the street. And then I'm breathing in that wonderful salty air. The smell of wood-fired pizza from one of the many restaurants reminds me I haven't eaten.

We move through the Tuesday night crowd inside the bar, weaving around stools and wine barrels. Mary Margaret isn't at our usual window position.

There are plenty of girls lined up around the bar, and plenty of guys jostling to pay, hoping to get lucky. Some of them I recognise and they raise their glass my way.

'—tore up by something. Deb reckons those huge feral cats are back.'

A snatch of conversation pulls me up short.

'Your sister's full of shit.'

'She bandaged him up. I think she'd know.'

'What's Leroy's say?'

'Dunno. He's still out of it. So are the rest of them.'

'Dude, if there's something in the forest big enough to take down those guys, we're all stuffed.'

I spot Mary Margaret and Neal, huddled together at a table in the corner, near the jukebox. She's changed into jeans and a white sweater. She startles when she sees me, rises, as if to come and meet us, but then falters. By the time we reach her, she's just standing there, her arms wrapped around her chest.

'You okay?' I reach out and brush her arm.

When she flinches, Neal is straight up out of his chair. 'Get away from us before I call the police. I should have called them already, but Mary Margaret said—'

'Calm down,' I say quietly.

'Calm down?' Neal's eyes are unforgiving. 'Those psychos wanted you, not Mary Margaret. I can't believe you dragged her into this. It's all your—'

'Sit down and shut your mouth,' Killian says.

Neal and Mary Margaret drop back into their seats as if he's knocked them there. Killian takes two chairs from a nearby table and we sit down.

'Those psychos locked Swan in a cage with one of those monsters you saw tonight, so don't bloody whine about this being her fault.'

Mary Margaret's face crumples when Killian mentions the hellion.

'And you know that's true,' Killian says to Neal, 'because you saw the marks on her neck this morning, didn't you?'

Neal doesn't answer, but Mary Margaret is crying now. She finally looks at me. 'Oh, Emma, is that true?'

I swallow the lump in my throat. 'I am so sorry, Mary Margaret. I had no idea they would grab you—'

She hugs me fiercely, burying her face in my neck. Her hair still smells of her shampoo.

Tears leak down my cheeks. I'm crying in public. I don't care.

'What about the dwarfs?' Neal is less certain now.

'They're getting patched up,' Killian says. 'They'll survive, if they keep their mouths shut. Same goes for you.'

The room contracts to me and Mary Margaret and I pull back from her so I can see her. 'Did they hurt you? Did they do anything you didn't want them to?'

She shakes her head. 'Regina threatened to break my legs if I tried to escape, but she never laid a hand on me. None of them did.'

'Are you sure?'

She nods her head.

'Was anyone else at the cabin?'

'Just August, mostly. He seemed pretty stoked that you were alive. And then there was Graham.' She gives me a sheepish smile and out of the corner of my eye I see Killian roll his eyes and settle back to crowd-watching. 'He was very polite. He asked a lot of questions about you.'

'What sort of questions?'

'How we met, what you're like. If I'd ever seen you fight.' She shakes her head. 'I told him you had a temper but you didn't know how to fight—and then you turned up tonight swinging that sword…Those things, those hellions…they're what you dream about?' She shudders. 'They're hideous.'

'Yeah, I know.'

I'm not sure Neal can take any more talk about hellions. He's staring across the bar, eyes blank.

'Look, Mary Margaret, about David…He's been beside himself since Regina grabbed you.'

'Don't, Emma. He had so many chances to tell us who he was, and he didn't.'

'He has his reasons. And he told me when it counted.'

'I don't care.' She looks away. 'That night on the couch at Killian's, we talked about a lot of pretty intense stuff. And he said some things to me…If he meant them, then the least he owed me was the truth.'

I put a hand on her arm. She's trembling. 'He's never been a part of the Rephaim. Until tonight, none of the others knew he existed—not even Rumplestiltskin. Especially Rumplestilskin. He risked all that to come get you.'

At Rumple's name, Killian brings his foot up to rest on his knee. 'Poor Dave,' he says under his breath and taps the table to get Neal attention. 'Hey, barkeep, any chance of a beer?'

Neal slowly focuses on him. Then he takes the last swig out of his own bottle. 'Only if you're buying.'

Killian fishes notes out of his pocket and pushes them across the table. As soon as Neal is out of earshot, Killian turns to Mary Margaret. 'What did Graham say to you?'

'What do you mean?'

'What did he say to make you so twitchy when we walked in?'

Mary Margaret picks at her nails. I thought she was just freaked out by what she'd seen. It hadn't crossed my mind there was more to it.

'It's okay,' Killian says. 'You can tell us.'

She finally looks up, at me rather than Killian. 'Graham said you'd done a deal with demons. He said you and Liam cared more about finding the Fallen than you did about protecting people like me. That if the Fallen got loose, millions of people would die.' She tears part of her nail free. 'And I know you don't remember what happened before you came here…'

I can only stare at her.

'Graham doesn't believe Swan made a deal with demons any more than I do.' Killian knocks his knee against Mary Margaret's. 'Pretty Boy was trying to scare you into spilling whatever secrets Swan's told you. You can't trust a word that comes out of his mouth—'

'I know, I know,' Mary Margaret says quickly. 'It's just, this is all so crazy.'

'No shit,' I say. I smile at her and she smiles back. Some of the tightness eases at the base of my skull. We might still be okay.

'I've got a theory,' Killian says.

'Spill it.'

'Walsh says he took your head. But you're still alive, and it's obvious he has no idea how that's possible. He says Liam begged for your life, but he definitely doesn't have him as a prisoner—or trophy— or we would've heard about it long before now.'

'Keep going.'

'You dream about scuffles Liam's had with hellions. You dream about me'—his mouth quirks—'and you knew about the Think Lovely Thoughts blog. And the brother you remember is like some idealised version of Liam—'

'And then there's the music,' Mary Margaret says.

Killian frowns, and Mary Margaret holds out her hand. 'Give me a dollar.'

He hands her the coin. She goes to the jukebox and picks a song. The single guitar note starts up as she sits back down. Mary Margaret holds up a hand to stop Killian interrupting. She watches me closely.

'Go on,' she says. 'You know it, don't you? But you didn't before.'

Of course I know the tune—Liam played it all the time, but I'd never paid attention to the lyrics. Except, of course, I know them by heart now.

Killian is looking from me to Mary Margaret. 'And?'

'Didn't Liam ever play this song.?'

'Bloody Hell.' Killian is looking at me, but it's not me he's seeing.

'So? Killian?'

'He must have had a hand in messing with your memories.'

I frown. 'Is that possible? I mean, could he do that?'

'No, but—'

'Then why say it?'

'Because it's the only thing that makes sense.'

'But that means he was still alive after I got hurt.' The muscles across my breastbone constrict. 'If he's been alive all this time, why haven't you heard from him? Why haven't I?'

'Maybe he's hurt. Maybe he's being held somewhere. Maybe he's in a coma.'

Or maybe we did something so bad, the only way Liam could protect me was by making me forget and then disappearing himself.

The song ends and in the quiet, Mary Margaret says, 'Maybe he doesn't know who he is either.'

I watch this register on Killian's face. The idea that Liam is out there somewhere, as defenceless as I was; the thought Liam might think I'm dead too. I feel like vomiting. Killian looks the same way.

'That means he found a way to change your memories and then let someone change his,' Killian says.

I want this to be true so badly, I can barely breathe.

'He couldn't do that alone…'

Killian doesn't finish the sentence, but it needs to be said.

'It would involve doing a deal with someone who's not human, wouldn't it?'

Killian grabs a coaster and taps it on the table in time with the new song grinding out of the jukebox. 'Rumple doesn't have that sort of power, so it can't be one of the Fallen, and the Garrison hates us, so it's not them. Demons definitely don't have the juice —and if Walsh thinks he killed you, then maybe his memories about the attack have been messed with too.'

'Then who did it? And why?'

Neal is on his way back, carrying four beers by their necks.

Killian leans in closer. 'That's what we're going to find out.'

I like the way he says 'we'. Like there's no option except the two of us doing this together. Mary Margaret looks from me to Killian and back again.

'What?' I say.

A small smile. 'Nothing.'

Neal puts the beers on the table a little too hard.

'What is it?' Mary Margaret asks.

'My car is still in the forest.'

Killian sighs. 'You want me to drop you back up there?'

Neal looks at him, a faint crease in his brow, and then his eyes widen when he realises what Killian's offering. 'I don't want anything from you—and sure as hell not that.'

'I agree.'

Killian raises his eyebrows at me.

'I don't think anyone should be wandering in there alone any time soon. Neal came through for us tonight—'

'And now he's—'

'—and the least we can do is keep him out of strife and help him out with this.'

Killian holds my gaze for a few seconds, and then pulls his phone out. He taps the screen, waits, and then says: 'Vic—one last favour.' He turns away, so I can't hear the rest of his conversation.

I grab my drink and down nearly half the bottle in three gulps. Beer has never tasted this good.

Neal watches me, fascination mixed with something else. Fear, maybe.

'What are you?' he says.

'Thirsty,' I say, and manage a tired smile.

His face softens, like it always does when I smile at him, but then the wall comes straight back up. 'You know what I mean.'

'Didn't Mary Margaret tell you?'

'I tried,' she says. 'He didn't want to know.'

'She can explain it when you're ready.' I tap Mary Margaret's glass. 'Are you coming home tonight? I need to talk to David about a few things, so I told him to come back after he's cleaned up.'

'I don't know. I need time.'

Neal picks up the coaster Killian was playing with and adds it to the neat stack in the middle of the table. 'Are we safe?' he asks.

'Yeah,' I say. 'It's over.'

Killian ends the call as I finish my beer. 'Done,' he says.

'Good.' I stand up. 'I need to sleep.'

Mary Margaret hugs me again.

'Please come home tonight,' I say, quietly. 'There's stuff I want to talk to you about.'

It's the best gift I have for her, and when she gives me one last squeeze, I know we're going to be okay.

THE THIRD WHEEL

Outside, Killian turns left instead of right.

'I need to grab some fresh clothes,' he says.

'And we're walking?'

His face is lit by the glow of a street lamp. 'I thought you might prefer to stay on foot.' He stops. 'Are you still sore? Would you rather shift?'

'No, I'm okay.' I touch his shoulder and hold my finger to the light to see if he's still bleeding. 'You should have got Red or Vic to fix that. Sorry I'm not more useful.'

'You were plenty useful tonight.' He moves off again and I fall into step.

'Listen.' I look down at the paved footpath. I want this to come out right. 'Thanks for everything tonight. I know you didn't have to do any of it.'

He laughs. 'Yeah, right. Like you would have let me off the hook if I'd walked away.' He glances at me. Something flickers in his face before he looks away. 'And, any excuse to cause a bit of chaos.'

'Well, either way, thanks. I don't know what I would have done without you.'

I wait for the smartarse comeback, but there's none. We walk in silence.

The house is in darkness. Killian grabs the key from under the welcome mat in front of the door. He opens the door, flicks on the bare bulb overhead and heads for the bedroom.

'I won't be long,' he says, not looking at me.

I rub my eyes. I may as well freshen up while Killian gets his gear together. I'm almost at the bathroom when he steps out of his room. Shirtless.

'Oh, sorry.' I step back, my cheeks hot. What is wrong with me? My eyes flick back to his bare torso. Hidden under dark chest hair, it's covered in bruises and welts. 'Killian…' I nearly reach out and touch him. 'You need to get someone to heal those.'

Killian closes the space between us. He searches my eyes, and then slides his fingers around my neck. My hands are on his chest, my fingertips lace through the soft hair. His skin is warm. We watch each other, unblinking. And then his lips are on mine and it's like I remember—breath and heat. Only this time his kiss is slower, deeper. I mould myself against him. I've been waiting for this since he walked out of the bar that first night.

I'm not exhausted anymore.

My arms are around his neck, my fingers in his hair. I can't get enough. He presses me against the wall, his hand grazing my side to my hip. His lips are hungrier now. As are mine.

We only break apart for air, and then Killian is nuzzling my neck, even the hellion scar near my collarbone. I make the smallest sound of pleasure and his mouth covers mine again. He pulls me to him and walks me backwards into his room, kissing me the whole way.

We're on the bed. My boots, shirt, jacket and jeans come off, and his pants are undone now and low on his hips. I'm not sure he's wearing anything under them. I can't keep track of the places he's touched and kissed me. My entire body thrums.

And then his hand slides up the inside of my bare thigh. All the way.

I gasp. I regret it as soon as the sound escapes me, but I've never been touched like this before, by hands so assured, so practiced.

His body stills and he stops kissing my throat. His heart is banging against his ribcage, and mine keeps pace with it. His hand lingers just inside my thigh.

'Do you want me to stop?'

I swallow. 'No. It's just…' I don't want to say it.

'Are you…Have you ever…?'

'Does it matter?'

He watches me, wrestling with something. I don't look away. Just because I didn't want a drunken encounter in a trashy hotel doesn't mean I've been avoiding this moment. I wasn't ready. Until now.

'It's not a big deal.'

His breath is warm on my neck. 'Yeah, it is. It's a huge deal.' He slides his hand over my underwear and runs his palm across my bare stomach, the urgency already fading from his touch.

My hand has gone still on his back, but I slide it down to his hip now and gently move my thumb low on his abdomen, making a slow circle. 'It's my decision.'

Killian closes his eyes. 'It's not just yours.'

'Who else's is it?'

'Swan's. And she'd never forgive me.' He looks down at me, his blue eyes serious. 'You think you're a virgin.'

Anger flares. 'I get it.' I try to roll away from him but he doesn't let me get far.

'Get what?' He pulls me back to him.

'You want Swan. Not me.'

He traces a path down the length of my spine, resting his hand in the small of my back. 'Unless you're not paying attention, I think you can work out how much I want you right now.' He gives me a meaningful look, and I blush all over again.

'So why wouldn't Swan forgive you?' I hate talking about myself in the third person, but I have to: she's not me.

His fingers lightly brush my skin. 'I told you,' he says, 'you and me, we haven't been on good terms for a long time. So if I took advantage of the fact you don't remember why, and then you got your memory back…' He gives me a grim smile. 'You'd probably make a coin purse out of my balls.'

'Nah,' I say lightly, like his rejection doesn't sting. 'I'd want something big enough to carry more than five-cent pieces.'

His smile slowly widens, and he draws me closer. 'Don't push your luck, Emma. This resolve of mine is pretty fragile.'

'You could always tell me what you did, and I can decide for myself how pissed off I want to be.'

'What makes you think it was all me?' He's still playful, but there's a hint of warning in his tone.

'You know, you can't have it both ways.'

'Which ways would that be?'

'You can't make decisions for me based on what I might remember, and then punish me for what I don't.'

He laughs, deep and low in his chest. 'You still know how to complicate things, I'll give you that.'

'And you know how to avoid answering a question.'

'It's a long, complicated story—'

'So you keep saying.'

'—and we don't have time right now. Not if you want to talk to Dave. And I for one want to hear what he's got to say. It's way past time I was in the loop.'

I rest my forehead on his chest and breathe him in.

I want to know what happened between Killiian and me in the past—there has to be more than what everyone's told me. But—

'Yeah, we need to go.'

His hand comes around to rest on my hip again, and then he pulls away and we're no longer touching. 'So, what's his story?'

I sigh. 'You're not going to like it.'


	25. Chapter 25

NOTHING STAYS BURIED

I tell Killian everything David told me earlier tonight, sitting cross-legged on the bed—shirt back on and jeans close by. Killian is leaning against the wall. He is quiet the whole time I'm talking. There's no interjection or sarcastic commentary. He just listens, occasionally looking away and grinding his jaw. I wait for him to call David a liar, or threaten to tear him apart. But when I'm finished, he stares past me.

'What are you thinking?' I ask at last.

Killian doesn't look at me. 'I'm going for a shower.'

'That's it?'

He hunts around in a duffel bag on the floor and grabs a clean pair of jeans. 'Just give me a minute.' He goes to the bathroom.

And then I get it: this is a big deal for Killian. For me, it was the latest in a long line of bombshells, but for him it's huge.

The shower starts up across the hall and I briefly wonder how well his resolve would hold if I walked in there now. But I'd never have the guts to do something like that. I put my jeans on.

He comes back into the room in a cloud of steam and shampoo, wearing only his jeans. He's rubbing his head with a towel, and when he stops his hair sticks up.

'I've got a question or two for that little bastard.' Killian tosses the towel over the chair beside the bed.

My whole body relaxes. I much prefer Killian being cocky or even childish: the pensive, silent version is too hard to read. He finishes getting dressed. 'Ready?'

I put my arm around him, ready for a quick shift, but he stands there for a moment, holding me. Just a stone throw away, the tide rolls in, and a fog horn sounds somewhere on the dock. I feel every place his skin touches mine. He pulls me closer. And then we make the shift to the apartment.

We turn up in the kitchen—no polite arrivals for Killian. My eyes are still shut, so I hear David's startled reaction: a cupboard thumping, and swearing.

'Dave,' Killian says.

I wait a second for my body to settle, nodding my appreciation to David that he's come back. He's probably about to regret it. David is in fresh clothes, his hair darker and damp. The kettle is rumbling on the bench and he's holding a mug in one hand and a box of tea in the other.

'You want one?' he asks me.

Delaying this conversation is only going to make Killian worse, so I blurt, 'I've told him everything.'

David takes a step back. 'Look, I realise you're probably angry—'

'Why would I be angry?' Killian strolls over to David's side of the the bench and runs his fingers over the handles sticking out of the knife block. 'Just because I've been lied to my whole life, my best friend didn't trust me, and you've played me for an idiot from the beginning—'

'I haven't played anyone,' David says, his voice tight. 'I didn't know if I could trust you. I still don't.'

Killian pulls out one of the carving knives and checks the line of the blade. 'Let's say you're not completely full of shit. Let's say your mother didn't die, her cousin was Liam and Swan's mother, and they found you. And let's say you've been hiding out all these years to avoid Rumple and the Sanctuary. Why have you crawled out of your hole now? What's your game?'

'I don't have a game—'

'Bullshit. Everyone's got a plan for the Fallen. What's yours? Hand them over to the Garrison or join them?'

David slams the mug down on the bench. 'Why does it have to be one or the other? We don't even know what happened to them. Shouldn't we find that out first?'

'You want a counselling session, Dave? You want to sit on a couch and hold hands with your deadbeat dad and ask him why he abandoned you?'

'I want the truth,' David says. 'And I'd think you'd be a little interested in that yourself.'

Killian puts the knife down. 'So, what, you've been looking for them all this time?'

'No, I've been learning everything I can about angels and demons, trying to understand what I am. I've read thousands of books, studied theology, visited dozens of sacred sites and talked to just about every angel-obsessed expert—'

'But you never went to Rumple.'

'If he's got all the answers, why did Liam and the rest of you leave the Sanctuary?'

I think about all those books in Liam's room on Patmos. My brother's been searching for the same thing as David.

'For the minute,' I say, to stop their bickering, 'I'm more interested in the last time you saw me and Liam.'

David pulls a teabag out of the box and takes a deep breath. 'I'll get to that, there are just a few things I need to tell you first so it'll make sense.'

'Like what?'

'Like the real reason my mother panicked and wanted to leave the farm after you and Liam found us.' He puts the bag in his cup and pours boiling water over it. 'She fell pregnant again.'

I frown. 'Who was the father?'

'Al, a Shepard from a neighbouring farm. He'd been in love with my mother for years. Always offering to make her respectable but she kept turning him down. That didn't stop her sleeping with him, though.' He gives a quick, tight smile. 'But Al was good to me, even though he knew I wasn't what you'd call normal. Anyway, when Mother was carrying Jamie, she knew she was different too.'

'Different how?' Killian asks.

'She said she could feel it.' David turns to me. 'And she fretted you or Liam would visit and see she was pregnant, and let something slip in front of Rumplestiltskin. I mean, we knew Jamie wasn't going to be like me because Al was her father, but we shared the same womb. My mother thought there was a chance she'd still be special in some way and Rumplestiltskin might come for her—and me. Al had family in New York, so grandad sold the farm and that's where we went.'

'And was she special?' I ask.

'On her third birthday, she told us there were devils in the apartment across the street. A week later it burned down. Jamie knew what I was before I ever tried to explain it to her. She had visions, premonitions—whatever you want to call them—about angels and demons, until she hit puberty. Then they stopped.'

'And then what?'

'We thought it was over. But years later she got married and had a daughter, Lizzie, and she had the same gift.'

Killian jams the knife back into the block. 'What the bloody hell does any of this have to do with why you're here?'

'I'm getting there. In every generation of Jamie's descendents, the first-born daughter has had some form of the gift as a child. Some saw things before they happened, others dreamed about battles between angels and demons. I kept track of new births and when that first daughter arrived, I'd visit the family after a few years, introducing myself as a distant cousin. But every one of those girls already knew who I was as soon as they saw me—'

'So what!' Killian's eyes flash. 'Get to the point.'

David squeezes his teabag and puts it in the sink. 'The point is that the latest girl in Jamie's line doesn't have visions about angels and demons: she sees the offspring of the Fallen. She doesn't just know about me. She knows about every single one of us. Sees things that relate to us.' He looks back at me. 'It's the reason I made contact with you and Liam after all these years.'

'When?' I ask, already knowing the answer.

'A year ago.'

NO GOING BACK FROM HERE

'You know what happened to them?' Killian's voice is low, frightening. 'You've known all this time?'

David backs away, his hands out in front of him. 'No—'

Killian shifts and materialises a millisecond later. His hand is around David's throat and he slams him into the fridge. It rocks back with the force.

I grab Killian by the arm. 'Let him finish!'

'I told you not to trust him.'

'Just let him finish. Killian, please.'

He lets go.

David doubles over when his feet hit the floor. He coughs and rubs his throat. He shoots Killian a filthy look, grabs his tea, and pulls up a chair at the table.

'The girl, Elsa, had a vision about you and Liam,' David says to me. 'She wanted to tell you about it—warn you.'

Killian prowls back and forth behind him, all fury and menace. 'What was the vision?'

'She wouldn't tell me, but it must have had something to do with the Fallen. There's no other reason she'd risk making contact with you.'

'So you went running to Swan.'

He shakes his head. 'I had no intention of doing anything about it. Too dangerous.'

'For who, you? You are such a spineless—'

'For Elsa. She's eleven.' David scratches at a chip on his cup. 'Like I was trying to explain, she has a link to us.'

Killian stops behind David's chair. 'She what?'

'She meditates and can see where we are, where any of us are.'

'Do you know what The Shadow would do if he could get his hands on her?'

'Yes,' David says slowly. 'That's why I wasn't going to let anyone anywhere near her.'

'What changed?' I ask.

'She wouldn't take no for an answer. I've never seen her so wound up. She kept on and on at me to get you and Liam, and I kept saying no—and then she showed me a number she found online for the monastery in Italy and threatened to call and ask for you…There was no way I was going to the Sanctuary, so I got her to track Liam instead.'

'And you went to him.'

He nods. 'I'm the reason you started talking again.'

I blink and lean against the bench. The walls contract towards me.

Killian pulls up a chair beside David. 'Then what?'

'I took Emma and Liam to see Elsa. They stayed with us for a few days—'

'The kid lives with you?'

'No, with her mother, Gerda. She was the first-born girl of her generation, so she already knew all about me, and the Fallen. She wasn't keen on you two coming into her home, but Elsa convinced her it would be all right. And then'—he snaps his fingers—'the three of you disappeared.'

'Just like that?'

'One morning. Gerda went ballistic. She turned the place upside down, screaming abuse at me until she found a note Elsa stuck on the milk in the fridge. It said she was with you and Liam, and not to worry.' He gives a short, humourless laugh. 'Try telling that to a single mother whose only child has gone missing with a couple of half-angel bastards.' He tugs on his earlobe. 'Fifteen hours. That's how long I spent shifting all over the world. I had no idea where I was going or what I was looking for, but I couldn't just sit there.' He blows on his tea and takes a sip. 'And then Gerda went into Elsa's room for about the hundredth time and found her asleep in her bed.'

David pauses.

I know what's coming next.

'We didn't come back with her, did we?'

'No. And Elsa couldn't remember where you went or what happened. She couldn't even remember the vision that started it all. That freaked her out. When she finally calmed down, she was able to meditate and look for you.'

'And?' I glance at Killian. He's very still now.

'She couldn't find you. It was like you didn't exist anymore. The only thing that made sense was that you were both dead.'

Killian stands up abruptly and David flinches, but he's only going to the fridge. He digs out two bottles of water, and hands one to me. It's cool against my palm.

'But Swan wasn't dead, so how come this girl couldn't sense her?'

'I don't know.'

The light above me is too bright. The floor is unsteady under my feet. I sit down.

'You didn't see my short story online, did you?'

David turns his mug around on the table.

'Two days after you disappeared, Gerda and Elsa left town. She rang me a day later and said she had to keep Elsa safe. She wouldn't tell me where they were, but said they'd stay in touch. I didn't hear from them again until a week ago. Elsa had a vision of Rephaim coming here, to Storybrooke.' He turns to Killian. 'She saw you watching someone in a forest. She had the same vision three times before she realised the woman was Emma. It threw her because she still couldn't sense Emma. She worked out the only reason she could see her at all was because you were here, looking at her.'

Killian grabs David's cup to stop it moving. 'So Liam could be alive somewhere, but someone's hiding him, and your kid can't see him because he's not with other Rephaim?'

David nods. 'It's a possibility.'

I need air. I get up and open the window beside the couch, letting the night breeze wash over me.

'So, you're here out of guilt?' I ask David, not turning around.

He doesn't answer straightaway. I'm about to check he's still in the kitchen when he says, 'I wanted to make sure Elsa was right and you were alive. And when I saw you walk out of the animal shelter…let's just say my reaction was a little emotional.' He keeps going, even with my back to him. 'But I didn't know if you blamed me for whatever happened, so I kept my distance for a few days. The first time I walked by you in the street I was ready for you to drag me into an alley and break a few bones, but you had no idea who I was. It wasn't until Killian turned up at the bar that I worked out you had no idea who you were either.'

I stare out at the endless night sky. 'Why did you stay?'

'How could I leave? We were friends, Emma. You and Liam had every reason to turn your back on Elsa and me a year ago. You didn't. And you didn't tell anyone else about us. So of course I stayed. I wanted to know what happened to you—'

'And if you found the Fallen,' Killian says.

A sigh. 'And that. Obviously.'

I turn around. 'So what now?'

'We need to find Elsa and Gerda.'

'What's the point?' Killian says. 'The kid can't see where Liam is.'

'But maybe being near Emma will make a difference—help her see Liam, or even remember what happened.'

'You haven't found them in a year,' Killian says. 'What makes you think we can? We start with the nurse in New York.'

David looks to me. 'What nurse?'

'The one who told me I'd missed Liam's funeral.'

He purses his lips and nods.

'But,' I say, 'we've got other things to sort out too. We have to keep Mary Margaret safe. If we disappear, she'll be the first person Rumple's crew grabs—or Neal.'

A car stops in front of our house. A few seconds later, the engine revs, then roars off. The door downstairs opens and shuts, and then a few minutes later Mary Margaret walks into the kitchen, shoulders straight and face composed. She doesn't acknowledge David.

'He okay?' I gesture to the street.

'Sort of.'

I tilt my head towards my room. 'Got a minute?'

Mary Margaret's gaze skims across David and Killian. 'Of course.'

I point at David, and then the couch. 'You can sleep there.'

'I'm paying for a perfectly good bed in town,' he says, watching Mary Margaret walk to the bedroom.

He's not going anywhere.

'What about you?' I ask Killian.

He gives me a slow smile. 'We'll work something out.'

Does he think he's sleeping in my bed? How's that going to work? Heat spreads across my chest.

'Any chance you could organise something to eat in the meantime?'

His smile falters. 'Do I look like hired help?'

David sighs and stands up. 'We'll get it sorted. You two go talk.'

'Speak for yourself, Dave.'

They're still bickering when I walk into my bedroom. Mary Margaret is perched on the bed. I open the window and it smells of rain. I don't crowd her when I join her.

'Remember when the weirdest thing about me was that story?'

She manages a tiny laugh. 'Yeah…' The smile fades. 'Does this still hurt?' She gently touches my bruised cheek.

'A little.'

She pushes my hair aside to look at the bite on my shoulder. 'Oh, Emma.'

'It's not so bad now,' I say. 'What about you? Are you all right?'

'I'm fine.' She sits back on the bed and crosses her legs.

I give her a dubious look.

'When I realised they weren't going to hurt me, I was more worried about you. I can't believe you went with Graham to Italy.'

I pull my boots off. 'Yeah, well.'

'You want to talk about it?'

I don't, but it's what I promised her.

I prop myself up with two pillows and tell her everything.

'Oh my god, Emma, you got Fredrick to substitute for me at school?'

I smile. 'You owe him one.'

'I think I owe you one too.' she says. I nudge her with my knee.

Mary Margaret smiles, but it doesn't last. 'What about you?' she asks. 'How do you feel about being one of them?'

I could get away with dodging that question tonight, but I owe her more than that.

'I don't know.' My voice wavers. 'I've been beaten up, lied to, and heard a couple of different versions of who I am and what I've supposedly done. And…'

She squeezes my arm. 'What if Liam's really alive.'

'My heart stops every time I think about it.'

'Does it freak you out? The angel part?'

My laugh is short. 'Whatever I am, it doesn't feel very angelic.'

'Yeah, well, none of them are very angelic either,' Mary Margaret says.

'Except David.'

Mary Margaret glances away, straightens the doona.

'Come on,' I say. 'He protects little girls, talks about his feelings and likes to bake. He probably even helps old ladies across the street. And that body…'

'Stop it.' She almost smiles.

'You know he cares about you. He wants you safe.'

She nods, still not looking up.

'Listen.' I tap one of her toes. 'I'll cut the head off the next bastard who comes near you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you out of this.'

'I don't want you to keep me out of it,' Mary Margaret says.

'I'm not putting you at risk again, Mary Margaret.'

'I still have to live, Emma. If life has taught me anything, it's that life is short and you can't hide from pain.'

'Yeah, but—'

'I can't fight, and I can't shift, and I can't do any of the things your Rephaim can do, but I can be your friend. And don't tell me you don't need one—not after what I saw and heard tonight.'

I find a loose thread on the doona and pull it free.

'I don't deserve your friendship.'

'Yeah, you do.'

My throat closes over and a tear slides down my cheek. I don't brush it away. 'God, I must be wrecked,' I say, my voice thick. 'I've never cried this much in my life.'

'Just shows you're human.'

I manage a strangled laugh, not sure if she means to be ironic or not.

There's a footsteps on the stairs. 'Dinner's up,' David says. 'It's Pizza.'

Mary Margaret stares at the wall as his footsteps fade. She sighs. 'Come on.'

I wipe my face. 'I'll be out in a minute. I need to change.' She gives me a quick hug, and leaves.

I pull on fresh clothes slowly, like I'm underwater. Then I go to close the window. Leaves rustle in the tree outside and a bright moon shines down between its branches. Was it only a week ago I stood here after another dream, drenched in sweat, sobbing, and missing Liam so much I couldn't breathe?

Now there's a chance he's standing somewhere looking at the same moon. Is he thinking about me?

Who does he think I am?

Maybe we screwed up. Maybe we betrayed everyone close to us and deserved whatever happened to us.

I don't care.

What matters is that Liam might be alive. Not my Liam. Another Liam. But still my twin.

I sigh, pull the window in and lock it.

And then I walk towards the voices in the kitchen.


	26. Note

Thank you for all the support, reviews and follows. It means a lot.

This is the end of the Rephaim - Shadows book one. If there is an interest I will do the next book in the series, Haze. So let me know.

All credits go to Paula Weston, author of the a Rephaim series and Eddie and Adam, creators of Once Upon A Time.

Blurb HAZE book 2

Emma Swan' life used to be pretty normal. She lived with her best friend. She worked in an animal shelter. She was slowly getting over the death of her twin brother, Liam. Until Killian arrived. Now Emma has discovered she is one of the Rephaim - descended from fallen angels. She knows demons exist. That they are coming for her. And that Liam might be alive. What she does next could change everything.


	27. Haze - Chapter 1

I decided to continue with the story. Please be patient with me because I probably won't be updating as often but I will do it, so please just be patient. Your support means a lot. So here it is, enjoy.

IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT

I almost wish I still had the blood-soaked dream of the nightclub.

At least then I'd be asleep, not lying here in the dark chasing thoughts I'll never catch. The tree outside my window sways in the night; the moon casts a slight shadow of it's branches against the wall.

It's the quiet moments like this that get me, when it's impossible to pretend I have a grip on everything that's happened in the past week. In the daylight, in this apartment, I can fool myself into thinking I still have control over my life. But here in the dark I know that's a lie. And my life already has too many lies. For a year I believed four things: that my twin brother died in a car accident; that nothing in my life would matter as much as that; that my violent dreams are not real; that my memories from before are so faded because I was badly hurt in the accident that killed Liam.

It turns out none of these things is true, and it's the truth that keeps me awake. The biggest truth of all: Liam might be alive.

The shadow shifts on the wall, sharpens, blurs. The ache comes back into my chest. The possibility that I'll see Liam again, the cruel hope of it, never fails to take the breath out of me.

A year of hurting and missing him.

A year of nightmares.

And now the truth. The impossible truth.

My eyes track to the mattress on the floor next to my bed; Killian's boots beside it. The TV is on in the lounge room, volume low. Downstairs I can hear Mary Margaret stirring in her room. David might be in there with her, but chances are he's on the sofa in the living room, ignoring Killian or being ignored by Killian, still thinking of ways to make amends for telling he's one of us. Mary Margaret's forgiven me because I didn't know.

How is Mary Margaret sleeping? Is she dreaming of demons? Or the three Rephaim who held her hostage deep in the forest to get to me? I wish I could undo Monday and Tuesday night. I wish I could remember what it is everyone wants me to remember. What Liam and I actually did a year ago. It's not like I don't want to.

I roll over in bed, stare at the silhouette of the old tree outside and the smattering of stars beyond it.

Killian says we're safe for now, but given that he's sleeping on my floor instead of his own bed at the house down by the docks, he can't really believe that.

Not that he spends all night on the floor.

I turn again, kick the sheet off. Pull it back over me again. God, I need sleep.

The TV goes quiet downstairs. A few seconds later soft footsteps, floorboards creak beside the bed.

Silence. I breathe as though I'm sleeping. I can feel him listening. And then a zip slides undone, clothes drop to the floor and Killian slips under the sheet with me. Warmth radiates from him. His movements are slow, careful. His breath soft on my skin.

Like last night he doesn't touch me. The night before, Tuesday night - after the attack at the cabin when we got Mary Margaret back - I leaned against him when he settled behind me. As soon as our bodies touched he went straight back to the mattress on the floor. Shifted from my bed to his. It's one of the more annoying talents of the Rephaim - their ability to be somewhere else in the blink of an eye. He didn't say anything. No explanation. No smartarse comment.

So since then, we don't touch and we don't talk and he stays. We've slept beside each other before - on the sofa in Patmos, when Killian told me who I was. What I was. Then he was teasing, testing me. This closeness is different. Almost restrained. There's no sign of this Killian during daylight hours. I know he doesn't want to finish what we started in his bedroom, but why sleep in mŷ bed if he doesn't want the temptation?

He gets comfortable behind me, so close I can almost feel him. Almost. A deep sigh shifts my hair, tickles my neck. I close my eyes.

He knows I'm not asleep; he has to. So is he testing me or himself?

One week. That's how long it's taken to get this complicated. That's how long I've known Killian. He's known me for a lot longer, but I don't remember it so it doesn't count. I don't remember anything that's true before I woke up in hospital a year ago. I don't remember anything about my life with the Rephaim.

I should roll over, say something. Talk about Liam. Talk about the Rephaim and what their next move will be. Demand to know what happened between Killian and me - that other version of me - all those years ago. Ask him to tell me again what he knows about the fight that Liam and I had, and why we made up ten years later, and what it was we did a year ago that nearly killed me. But he doesn't have answers and I don't want him to leave my bed. I don't want to be alone with those other thoughts.

'Can you keep it down?' Killian says. 'I can hear you thinking from here.'

Typical he even breaks his own rules.

'Swan.'

I sigh. How many times do I have to tell him? I swear he calls me my surname just to get a reaction. I pull the sheet over my shoulders to my chin.

'Emma.' he says. 'You can't put it off any longer.' He still doesn't touch me.

'What?' I keep my back to him. I know what's coming next: the one thing guaranteed to keep me awake a while longer.

'Tomorrow we go to New York and start looking for Liam.'

FREEFALLING

'You don't have to do this.' I say to Liam.

'Yeah, I do.'he grins at me and then catches the eye of the girl testing the straps around his legs. She stands up, double-checks the clips and harnesses around his chest and hips. Once, twice. Blushes under his gaze. Honestly, how many teenage boys have flirted with her, and still Liam gets a reaction.

Her assistant is calling out as he goes through his equipment and mechanical shock list. Music pounds around us: dirty guitars and fuzzy keyboards thumping out of speakers. The cable car moves under our feet and a breeze pushes the hair from my face. I don't have to look over the edge; I can feel the pull of that gaping space from here. We're so high up there are wispy clouds below us. My lungs constrict and I don't know if it's because the are is so thin or because Liam is about to jump, leaving me here alone. I shouldn't be here, but Liam convinced the jump co-ordinatior into bringing me with him.

'You ready?' someone shouts from the other cable car, which is now heading back down.

'I was born ready,' Liam calls back. His eyes bright. 'Hundred and forty metre free fall, whoo!'

He salutes the person in the other cable car with a fist held out straight, as if symbolically bumping knuckles across the empty space.

I knew this was a bad idea.

'Liam,' I say forcing his attention back to me. 'What if something happens to you?'

'Em, nothing's going to happen. Look around; these guys know what they're doing.'

'I mean it.'

There's something in my voice that brings him back to me, overrides his buzz. 'Emma' - all traces of playfulness have gone - 'if anything happens to me, you'll be fine. You're strong enough to look after yourself. I hate to admit it, but you don't need me. Never did.' A smile. 'But listen, nothing is going to happen today. It's all good.'

'Liam, we're high enough up to get a nose bleed.'

'So come with me.'

I blink. 'Yeah right.'

'I mean it. We can do this together.' He raises his eyebrows at the girl who checked his harness. She nods.

I risk looking over the side. There's a river far beneath us. So far down we can't hear it. My entire body goes numb.

'You've got about thirty seconds and then I'm going on my own.'

What a choice: watch my twin brother jump out of this car or put aside my own fear and go with him. Share the recklessness. Why couldn't we have just gone sailing? We'd be safe apart from a colouring from the sun.

Adrenaline begins to burn through me. 'Screw it.'

Liam breaks into a wide smile. 'Seriously?'

I glance at the yawning space beneath us. 'Hurry up before I change my mind.'

I keep my eyes on Liam while the girl rings me up, then harnesses me to him. My heart bangs against my ribs. Finally, we're guided, shuffling, to the edge. It's all happening too quickly. But the music, the fear, the pounding of my heart. It's . . . exhilarating.

Liam must see my expression. He grins at me. 'Told you.'

I look down again. The bungee cord loops into the thin clouds, swaying. My stomach lurches. The girl positions us one arm around each other, gripping each other's harness; my head tucked tight against Liam's neck. We clamp our free hands together.

The countdown starts. 'Five, four-'

Holy shit, I'm really doing this. My pulse is erratic.

'Three, two-'

I'm with Liam. I'm okay. But, God, please don't let that cord break.

'One.'

Gravity pulls us. Undeniable. Irresistible.

'Hang on.' Liam says.

We don't even have to lean forward. We just fall.

I jerk awake. Killian is still in the bed with me, his breathing slow and deep. I quieter my breath till I can hear the low rustling of the tree outside. Check the clock: four-thirty. Close my eyes again.

These memories of Liam; I cling to them even though I know they're not real.

Someone gave me that memory. Gave me all the memories I have of my fake life and my brother. And that someone wants me to believe Liam and I took a crazy leap together. Stood over an abyss and chose to fall towards a river.

Why?

If Liam is alive, if the impossible really is possible, then other impossible things are true too. Would he take the news as well as I did?

Liam, fallen angels exist.

Liam, we're half angel bastards. Our father is one of the Fallen. Our mother is long dead. There are more of us out there. The Rephaim. Some of them you'd like, others you'd want to punch. But they're still better than the demons hunting our fathers.

Oh, and Liam? You're mentioned to be dead.

Me too.

Yeah. It's a little complicated.

It starts to fade - the memory, the rush, Liam's voice. Every part of me aches. How am I supposed to accept the Rephaim's version of my life when I don't remember it? How can I let go of the only thing I have left of Liam? These memories are all I've had this past year. How do I understand who I am, who I was, when they all claim to know different versions of me?

I drag my spare pillow close, bury my face in it. Try to hang on to that image of Liam grinning at me, the sky and the unknown behind him and below him.

God, I miss him.


	28. Haze - Chapter 2

BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS

David is cooking breakfast: blueberry and ricotta pancakes. He must think he can win Mary Margaret back through her taste buds. In fairness, it won't harm his chances.

'That smells amazing,' I say. It's so bright in the kitchen I can feel the night receding. On mornings like this it's easy to believe the rare Storybrooke sun can burn any darkness away. David turns briefly, looks at me as if he can see the remnants of my night. Whatever he's thinking he keeps it to himself.

'Nearly ready.' he says pouring batter into two pans on the stove, swirling each with practised efficiency. Pretending there's nothing wrong with me and that there's no tension in the room.

I glance at the sofa. Pillow, sheet and blanket neatly stacked at one end. He and Mary Margaret are talking again, awkwardly. David has spent his life avoiding the other Rephaim, so she understands why he took so long to tell us what he was, but she's not letting him off the hook quickly, which is the clearest sign yet she's fallen for him. David could go back to his place - Killian is here every night in case demons come back to Storybrooke or Rumplestiltskin sends more Rephaim for me or Mary Margaret. But we all know David's not going anywhere.

I've known David for a week too. Apart from the time I knew him a century or so ago, and our reunion last year before Liam and I did whatever we did. But I don't remember either: more memories lost along with everything else from my old life. With his short blonde hair and my blonde bird nest, it's not hard to believe his mother and mine were cousins. Two young, marginalised girls seduced by fallen angels. I'm still getting my head around that one: that our fathers were among the two hundred Fallen who broke out of hell, spent two days and two nights roaming the earth and then vanished. Selfish pricks.

I can't bear to think about my mother - the woman who gave birth to Liam and me a hundred and thirty nine years ago. She doesn't feel real. I never knew the woman who abandoned Liam and I either, though I've imagined who she might be. I can't grieve for either of them, not yet.

Mary Margaret is pretending to be rehoming a potted flower she keeps in her bedroom. The dining room table is covered with the broken pot, the freshly potted flower and a range of coloured paints.

'What do you think?' She turns the pot around so I can see what she's done. 'This one is supposed to be a Swan.' she says pointing to a painted white bird on the ceramic. 'And this one is a ship.' She points to another blob beside the swan. I don't question why she has painted a swan or a ship.

She catches my eye and smiles. We're still okay. If i was the hugging type, I'd be hugging her right now for not asking me to move out of the apartment after what happened this week. For letting three half-angels stay.

The pipes in the wall bang. Killian's in the bathroom. The fact he's showering here must mean he's hanging around for a while this morning.

I make myself a hot chocolate in a stained mug. I run my hands over the sink and find it spotless, the cleanest I've seen it since I moved in.

'What time did you get up?' I ask David.

He shrugs not looking at me. 'Early.'

I try to catch Mary Margaret's eye, but she's focused on her work again - or trying hard to look as if she is.

'What are your plans for today?' She doesn't look up but I know she's talking to me.

'Besides checking in on you?' Mary Margaret bites her lip; she hates the watch we've been keeping on her. 'Leroy's getting out of hospital this morning,' I say.

'Are you netting him out front with flowers?'

'Yep, and then I'm taking him for lunch.'

She laughs, strokes the paintbrush across the rim of the pot.

'Killian wants us to have a chat with him and the dwarfs in the back room of The Rabbit Hole.'

Mary Margaret's paintbrush stalls, brush hovering over the pot. 'Please tell me you're joking.'

'Sadly, no.'

The eight dwarfs. Storybrookes very definition of trouble. I bet their wishing they'd listened to Killian and not forced their way into the middle of the fight between the Rephaim and two of the demons hunting the fallen. Especially given Walsh and Felix brought along two pet hellions for fun. After being savaged by one, there's a good chance Leroy's going to want a beer at the first opportunity.

I bring my cup to the table.

'Theres only one way that's going to end, Emma.' A line creases Mary Margaret's forehead. 'You don't have to go.'

'Killian thinks I do.'

'Since when do you worry about what Killian thinks?' She watches me sit down. 'I thought he was keen to leave town?'

I shrug, avoid her eyes. 'He also wants to make sure the dwarfs don't talk about what happened in the forest.'

'Please don't go. I'm going back to school and I could really use your help as assistant. You could come do arts and crafts with the kids.'

'I need her more than you do.' Killian says, coming down the stairs with a newspaper. He comes to stand at the other end of the table pulling on a black t-shirt. His dark brown hair is damp and sticking up after a rough towel drying.

'What?' he says in response to Mary. Margaret's expression. 'I might need back up.'

I give a short laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement. Killian can take all eight of the dwarfs without breaking a sweat ; he just wants to throw me into a violent situation and see how I react - see how much more my body remembers.

I don't know about before, but I know what it remembers now: it remembers Killian. His bed. His hands. The way he kissed me the other night . . . My body flares in response to him, and then my mind shuts it down, blocks out all the images of his skin, the blue of his eyes that night.

He's still keeping things from me about the past. Our past. Violence comes to him as easy as breathing. He's reckless. So why do I feel safer with him around, even if it means following him onto a public bar?

Killian lifts his his shirt to rub a hand across his flat, hairy stomach, a lazy gesture. He catches my eye. 'Sleep well.'

'Like a baby.'

We both know I'm lying.

'And you Mary Margaret?'

'Like a log, thank you, Killian.'

Killian walks into the kitchen and looks over David's shoulder. 'If you're trying to score points with me, Dave, you'd do better with bacon and eggs.'

'You don't want any then?' David asks. He tosses a pancake and catches it in the pan. Mary Margaret forgets herself for a second and smiles.

'I didn't say that.' Killian pulls up a stool at the kitchen bench and unfolds the paper. 'So, where did you get to last night?' he asks David.

Mary Margaret and I share a quick look and go back to our respective tasks. I sip my hot coco. Mary Margaret keeps painting.

'I was on the sofa.'

'No you weren't. Not until midnight - I heard you get back. Where did you go?'

'I had a few errands to run.'

'Like what?'

'Not everything is your business, Killian.'

Killian's hands go still on the paper. 'You're joking, right?'

'Like it was none of my business you're one of us? Or that you're the reason Liam and Swan disappeared last year?'

David fusses with the pan, keeps his back to Killian.

'You came and went all day yesterday, and now you disappear for half the night. Given all the bombshells you've dropped this week-'

'I'm trying to find Elsa and Gerda.'

Mary Margaret and I look at each other. Is David going to tell him the truth?

Killian already knows David's mother survived Rumplestilskin's round-up of Rephaite babies and that she later had another child, Jamie, a human girl, with gifts. Killian knows Elsa is a descendant of Jamie and is also gifted; that she can see the Rephaim. He knows it was Elsa who told David I was still alive, who saw Killian tracking me through the forest when he turned up a week ago. And he knows Elsa had a vision that promoted David to reach out to Liam and me a year ago. That she then vanished with us and reappeared the following day with no memory of what happened to us.

What Killian doesn't know is why David is looking for Elsa and her mother now.

'And?' Killian says.

'And nothing. I haven't found them. They still won't take my calls.'

'The kid knows more than she's admitting.'

David turns around. 'Elsa doesn't remember what happened last year. How many times do I have to tell you?'

Killian flattens the newspaper. 'They're hiding something and you can't or won't see it. You're blinded by misplaced loyalty.'

'They're not hiding anything.' The pan bangs on the stove. 'Elsa's eleven. She has a gift any Rephaite, angel or demon, would exploit in a heartbeat. Gerda is protecting her only child.'

I go to the sink on the pretext of putting my mug in to be washed.

'So, that's what you've been doing when you're not here, looking for them. Killian says? 'How do you know where to look if you don't know where they are?'

'Let it go.' I say to Killian, blocking his view.

'In a minute.' He leans sideways to see around me. 'Are you going to tell me if they call?'

'That depends.'

'On what?'

'When you trust me, I'll trust you.'

Killian runs his palm over his jaw. They watch each other.

Yeah, that's not happening any time soon.

David turns back to the pancakes. 'Not everyone is your enemy, Killian.' he says, quieter now.

'No,' Killian mutters, 'just people related to you.'

I catch his eye. 'I'm related to him.'

Mary Margaret puts her crafts and bits and pieces away and I help her scoop up any scraps and out them in the bin. The promise of pancakes, blueberries and maple syrup is enough to get Killian sitting at the table with us. It's not enough to take the tension from David's shoulders.

And for good reason.

What David is keeping from Killian has to come out. Today.


	29. Haze - Chapter 3

TALKING TO A BRICK WALL

Is it possible to decapitate someone with a pool cue?

I hope not, or I'm in a shitload of trouble. Our chat with the eight dwarfs isn't going well. Leroy's on a stool, propped against the bar, his neck and shoulder heavily bandaged. Half his scruffy beard is missing where doctors had to stitch up his throat two nights ago. He looks strangely frail under the insipid bar lights.

His brothers sit beside him, all of them different variants of injured. Stealthy's beard is in tact but his dark hair is interrupted by a square, white bandage behind his ear, held in place with surgical tape.

'Tell me where I can find it,' Leroy says for about the fifth time. 'I'm gonna mount its fat head on my wall.'

'You really want to talk about this here?' Killian asks.

Leroy eyeballs him. 'You think I'd hide from them?' He gestures to his seven brothers around us. All wearing different coloured beanies but still sturdy and well built. One of the dwarfs beside Stealthy is wearing silver mooned glasses. Doc. The one on the other side of him is Tom Clark, owner of Dark Star Pharmacy. I know all eight of them by name and I don't doubt for a second they could snap the pool cues they're holding in half with their bare hands. We're unarmed. The Rabbit Hole might not be for the faint heart, but someone would have noticed if we'd walked in with katanas.

A week ago, I didn't know what a katana was. Now I'm starting to feel naked without one. Who knew I could get so attached to a sword?

'Let it go.' Killian says.

'Are you serious?' Leroy points a dirty finger at his neck. 'That thing bloody bit me.'

'And that thing is dead.'

I glance around the bar. It's half ten on a Friday morning and the place is empty except for us and guys nursing pints as if they hold all the answers. This early in the morning the place reeks of stale beer and regret.

'So you reckon.' Leroy says. 'How do I know you're-'

'I saw it's head,' I say. 'Trust me it's dead.'

Leroy eyes me. 'Who got it? The one with the scar, or the other bloke?'

He means Red - Ruby - and Phillip. Two of the Rephaim who'd been fighting each other until the demon and the hellions turned up.

'Red killed it.'

'What about the other one?' Leroy presses. 'Someone get that?'

'Not your concern.' Killian says.

'Pigs arse. Those pricks came into our territory. There's no way someone's not paying.'

Killian has one boot resting on a barstool. His shoulders are relaxed, but I know how quickly he can explode into violence. And he's been itching for a fight ever since Tuesday - quiet moments in my bed aside.

He meets my eyes briefly and then turns back to Leroy. 'In there.' He moves towards the back room of the bar, through to the smaller room before Leroy can argue. 'Ready?' Killian asks.

'Keep your temper and I won't have to be.' I don't want to fight. I might have held my own when my life and Mary Margaret's depended on it, but I'm not as confident as Killian that I can switch this stuff on and off.

And this time I don't have a sword.

The back room is what is considered private in this bar, and for once it's deserted. More bar stools and wooden chairs are scattered around. A pool table in the middle looks as though it has seen better days, a long time ago, and barely has a scrap of green felt left on it.

In the nine months I've been in Storybrooke I've never been in the back room of The Rabbit Hole, nor have I had the desire to. This room isn't like the rest of the bar. It's where people come late at night to do dodgy dealings and start fights. There's almost as much blood spilled here on a Friday night as there is beer.

Leroy shuffles into the from, wincing but trying to hide how much the bite in his neck hurts. Stealthy puts a hand out to support him. Leroy waves him away, lowers himself into a rickety chair.

'I wanna know what bit me.'

Doc stations himself between us and the door out. Killian doesn't seem bothered that the door is guarded and we're surrounded. I'm not quite so relaxed.

'Those mutants, they're part of a military experiment, right? Playing around with DNA trying to bring magic creatures into our world?'

I stare at Stealthy. This is what he's come up with over the past two days? But then the government conspiracy makes more sense than the truth: that he was attacked by a hell-beast. How else to explain the huge creatures with jaundiced eyes and deadly claws? I don't want to lie, but I can't tell them the truth either. Way too hard.

'I can't say.'

Killian is half sitting on the edge of a table scarred with glass rings and burns, enjoying me dig myself into a hole.

'Can't or won't?' Leroy says.

'Both.'

His eyes narrow. 'I knew it. What did I tell you, Doc?'

'Who where the freaks manipulating the beasts?' Leroy asks.

Any warmth in the room recedes at the mention of Walsh and Felix. I remember the fear in Mary. Margaret's eyes. The moment where everything around us turned quiet, when the splintered Rephaim stopped fighting each other and turned, shoulder to shoulder, to look at what was coming out of the dark. I can't quite shake Walsh's boasting that he but his sword through my neck. Or what he said when I asked what happened to Liam. Come with us, and we will show you.

'Had to be government spooks.' Stealthy says

'They didn't look government.'

'They're spooks, they're not supposed to.'

Leroy gestures at me. 'Why were they so interested in you?'

I pull myself out of the memory of the clearing in the forest, rub the chill from my arms. 'I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Like you.' I shift my hair from my shoulder to show them the hellion bite near my collarbone.

Leroy's breath comes out in a hiss. 'When did that happen sister?'

'A few months back.' A lie, but it's not as if I can tell them it happened a few nights ago when I gave myself up to Graham and the Sanctuary to get Mary. Margaret back-not given how advanced the healing is. The dwarfs would notice, they're not completely stupid.

'It was one of those mutants? Why?'

'They think I'm someone I'm not.' It's close enough to the truth.

'Yeah right.' Stealthy says

'What, you think I did this to myself?'

'No, sister, I think you're full of crap about how it happened. You've done nothing but feed us fairy tales since you walked in the door. We saw you.'

'Saw us what?' Killian eases his weight off the table.

'Playing ninjas up there.'

'And?'

'And start talking. Now.' The rest of the dwarfs surrounding us step closer with their pool cues.

Killian laughs. 'Listen, mate, this is a courtesy visit. Your fight's done. Let it go. If you get caught up in this, there won't be enough left of any of you to leave a stain.'

I shoot Killian a warning look, which he ignores.

Leroy's face flushes. He'd be throwing punches by now if he wasn't in so much pain. 'You must have a death wish, coming in here like this.'

'I'm trying to save your worthless arse.' Killian is clear if the table now, flexing his fingers. Our window for non-violent chat just closed.

Stealthy, Tom Clark and two other dwarfs close in around Killian. 'You should've brought your sword.' Leroy says as the four men rush for Killian.

They swing at his head and legs with surprising precision. The pool cues smack against his forearms and shins as he blocks each strike. Killian grabs one and jerks it closer, pulling the dwarf on the other end off his feet and into the path of another swinging cue, which cracks against the dwarf's shoulders. Killlian shoves him at Tom Clark and they sprawl to the ground. Then he king-hits the third guy and throws a chair at him to finish him off.

Killian stretches his neck from shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the dwarfs to get up. 'You planning on helping out any time today?'

I've moved out of the way, my heart rate climbing. Killian doesn't need me - he can end this whenever he wants to. He's keeping this going because he wanted to see what I can do.

Before Killian came to town I would have run from a bar fight without hesitation. Now I don't know what to do. I'm not the same girl I was a week ago, trying to run through my grief on the running track. But I'm not the other me either. Swan. One of the Rephaim's best fighters. The things Killian says I'm capable of. . . I've only seen them in fits and starts. I might not be able to die here - unless you really can decapitate someone with a pool cue - but I could still be seriously injured.

What if I can't fight? It's one thing to throw a punch in a split-second of rage. This is something else.

Stealthy pulls a knife from his jeans. Leroy's standing now, gripping the side of the pool table. He's watching the fight closely but doesn't make a move to step in.

Stealthy feints left and then right, waiting for the others to surround Killian again. Tom Clark snaps his cue over his thigh and spins the two halves like batons.

'Leroy,' I try to sound reasonable. 'You need to end this before they get hurt.'

He doesn't even look at me. 'Shut up, sister.'

Stealthy snaps his fingers to get my attention and puts his fingers to his lips. Then he turns back to the main action, more interested in the promise of Killian getting stabbed.

Stealthy lunges. Killian catches him by the wrist and spins him around. He uses his body to block another cue strike and then flings him aside. Stealthy hits the floor hard, grunts. Killian makes short work of the other dwarfs brave enough to come at him, then gestures for Tom Clark to come at him with his busted pool cue. Tom Clark grazes Killian's arm before Killian takes his legs out from under him.

Stealthy is circling Killian again, spinning the knife, waiting for his opening. My breath shortens as he glimpses me over his shoulder and turns, slashing the blade.

I react without thinking, smashing his wrist - the knife falls to the ground - and then I punch him in the face. Shit. His head is as hard as concrete. I stagger back, cradling my fist. Stealthy takes a few slow steps towards me, moving his jaw from side to side, searching for the knife.

'You want some action, sister.' he says.

I wait for him to telegraph his next move. What do I do if he lunges at me? What if he-

His eyes flick over my shoulder. Before I can look, something smacks into my head and shoulders. I sprawl forward. The ground is unforgiving, but I roll over and bring up my knees and hands defensively. Leroy is standing over me, holding a plastic chair. 'Stay down.'

I try to sit but he he puts his worn boot on my chest and pushes me down.

'Don't make me hit you again.' Leroy's voice isn't menacing - yet.

'You're wasting your time.' I say to Leroy, trying to catch my breath. 'You're not going to beat Killian. Look at him.'

Leroy keeps his boot on my chest - not putting his full weight on it, just enough to keep me in place - and watches the scuffle. Tom Clark lands flat on his back not far from us, blood splattering from a split cheek. I wince. I should have taken up Mary Margaret's offer to help her at school. I'm pretty sure nobody's bleeding on the floor over in her classroom.

The dwarfs are all limping. Killian has barely broken a sweat. When Tom Clark lunges again, Killian snaps his wrist. Tom Clark howls and drops to his knees.

'Killian, stop.' I call out.

Leroy puts more weight on my chest.

Killian lands a couple good punches on the dwarf closest to him. 'Get up.' he says, not looking my way.

He'll keep going until Leroy calls it quits, someone calls the police, or I give him what he's waiting for. I know what he wants. He wants his badass Swan. But he knows badass Swan isn't here. Just me. And I just proved that I don't know what I'm doing.

'Stay down.' Leroy says again, as if he can see my mind working.

I grit my teeth. What is wrong with me? In the past week I've killed a hell-beast and fought demons, and I'm letting the the leader of the eight dwarfs, Leroy pin me to the faded carpet in the back room of the Rabbit Hole. With one foot. I've go to do something. I need -

Don't think.

I grab Leroy's boot. He has a second to look down at me with vague amusement before I shove him, hard. He hops backwards, arms wheeling as he tries to keep his balance. I spring to my feet, blood pounding at my temples. I can't feel anything except my heart against my ribs.

Stealthy's knife is under the pool table. Too far away. A wooden chair is closer. I grab it with one hand and fling it at Leroy as he comes towards me. He bats it away, giving me time to snatch up a pool cue. I swing it fast; it cracks as it connects with the side of his head. His knees buckle. He slumps to the floor, dazed.

Fingers clamp around the back of my neck. I swing the cue again, try to turn but Stealthy wrenches the cue out of my hand. I keep my balance and use my momentum to slam an elbow into his stomach. He let's go and falls sideways. I bring my fist down on his nose. Blood instantly streams down over his lips. He stumbles towards Killian.

My hand throbs, but there's so much adrenaline in my system - and whatever else makes me Rephaite - it's almost bearable.

'Had enough yet, mate?' Killian asks Leroy. He's holding the knife against Stealthy's cheekbone.

Leroy has a death grip on the pool table, having recovered enough from my earlier assault. His face is pinched.

'Good.' Killian says. 'So we're clear; you keep out of our business and we'll keep out of yours.' Killian shoves Stealthy so hard he sprawls at Leroy's feet. Next to him, one of the other dwarfs gets up, groans.

'If I hear you've been talking about what happened in the forest down by the cabin. Or what just happened here, I'll come back. And next time, there'll before of us. Got it?'

Leroy doesn't answer. His silence is more menacing than a spray of abuse. Wonderful. As well as the Rephaim and fiery eyed demons, I've now got the eight dwarfs of Storybrooke to count as a threat.

I watch Leroy in pain. Stealthy limping out of the way, a fine splatter of blood on the carpet beneath. God, what am I doing? Is this who I am now? I've heard so many versions of who I'm meant to be, they're all starting to seep together: the fearless Swan that Killian is so fond of; the Emma who didn't talk to Liam for a decade, who refused to go when he left the Sanctuary, who hooked up with Graham of all people, the Emma who came here nine months ago, made friends with Mary Margaret, got a job volunteering at the animal shelter.

Which one am I?

And what sort of chaos have I brought to Storybrooke?

Killian swats aside Doc, who's still standing guard at the door and we walk out onto the street. Killian shuts the door behind us.

'Now,' he says as he sets of down the street, 'was that so hard.'

Reviews would mean the world.


	30. Haze - Chapter 4

HOT AND COLD

I make it a block before I trust myself to speak.

'That was always going to end in a brawl.'

Killian glances at me as we walk. His hair looks a shade lighter out here in the open with a ray of sun touching his brown locks. Right now I'd like to run my fingers through it, get a good handful, and smack his head into the brick wall we're passing.

'I'm not the one who started.' he says.

'Please. You've been wound up for days.'

His lips twitch. 'You've no idea.'

I ignore the heat climbing my neck. Above us, the morning sky has a thick layer of clouds, apart from the occasional ray of sun that pierces through.

'Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that.' I say.

'What - dancing around with those clowns while you stood and watched?' He looks at me. 'You think that's my idea of fun? You should have jumped straight in'

He's not quite so playful now.

'When a fight breaks out, Killian, my first instinct isn't to jump in.'

'Well it should be.'

'Why?'

He blocks my path, forcing me to stop. 'You're kidding, right?' He's only a few centimetres taller than me, but it's enough to give him an advantage when he wants to stare me down. 'Do you want to find Liam or not?'

My chest tightens. I don't answer. I shouldn't need to.

'I'm serious.' he says. 'We've got the Sanctuary breathing down our necks, demons gunning for us and God knows what else between us and Liam. You need to know what you're capable of and you can only do that if you break a sweat'

'I thought you were going to train me.'

'Nothing beats the real thing.'

'So that was all for my benefit?'

'Trying to keep this shit out of Storybrooke is for your benefit. You know I'd rather be somewhere else. I'm ready to leave right now: just say the word.'

'It's not that simple.'

'It is, and you know it. We could be in New York and back by lunchtime. I don't know why you're dragging your feet. You're the one who keeps finding excuses to be here.'

He watches me and I hope he can't read me as well as he thinks he can. I don't want to explain this uncertainty - I'm not sure I could, even if I wanted to. His eyes flicker in frustration and anger.

'I told you, we have to wait for Robin and Regina.' I say.

He's more than over that excuse. 'Bloody Hell, Swan, Rumplestiltskin's not sending them to help, he's sending them to spy on us.'

'I realise that.' I'm yet to convince the fallen angel who found and raised the Rephaim - and built them into an army - that I don't know where the rest of the Fallen are. That I don't know what Liam and I did a year ago that left me broken and bloodied. That maybe killed Liam.

'Then let's go before they get here.'

I took past him to the horizon behind him. It's not as if I have a burning desire to see Rumplestiltskin's head kickers again. The first time I met Regina she threw me into a tree and broke my ribs. Then Robin tried to drown me in a bath, on Rumplestiltskin and Graham's orders. As if a near-death experience was going to jump-start memories from my old life. And they wonder why I'm not racing to move back into Rephaim headquarters in Italy. There's a reason Liam, Killian, Red, Vic and nineteen other Rephaim left the so-called Sanctuary a decade ago and became Outcasts. There's a reason I didn't go with them. I just wish I knew what it was.

'And what do you think Regina and Robin will do when they can't find me?' I say. 'They'll scoop up Mary Margaret again and we're back where we started - or worse - because next time they will take her to the Sanctuary.'

'How does that change if we wait for them?'

I press my lips together.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

He watches me for a few seconds. I look away.

'This is about Dave, isn't it?' I watch the trees blow in the wind, the trunks wain back and forth, back and forth. 'No.'

'Bollocks. You and Mary Margaret didn't bat an eyelid about him being out half the night. He's doing more than running around after the missing kid with the visions. What else is going on?'

I sigh. 'He's trying to help.'

'How?'

'He thinks there might be a way to protect Mary Margaret from being forced to shift by Rephaim.'

Killian stares at me. 'Don't you think I'd know about it if there was?'

'You didn't know about David.'

He turns away.

'His life has been different to yours - it stands to reason he might know different things. You keep saying Rumplestiltskin doesn't know everything.'

'But Dave does?'

'Killian-'

'Does he think his seer is going to know?'

'I don't know.'

'Who else then?'

'I don't know.'

He shakes his head. 'I told you there'd be more. He knows too much about the Rephaim for someone who's never been to the Sanctuary.'

The last time Killian shared that suspicion, I was half-undressed on his bed. For a second I remember the feel of his lips on my skin, my hands in his hair. The need to touch as much of him as possible. . . I cut short the memory before it robs me of focus. Right now all I feel is a Killian's impatience. His distrust of David. His hurt that Liam and I met David a hundred years ago and allowed him to stay hidden from the Sanctuary and everyone there. Including Killian. But like everything else about my past, I don't remember it and I can't undo it. In this light of day, I think I can see how heavy the last year has been on Killian. Believing Liam was dead. Believing I was dead. I forget sometimes that he's had his own grief to carry. My own frustration fades a little.

'Maybe David will talk to you if you stop jumping down his throat every time he opens his mouth.'

'When were you going to let me in on this plan of his?'

'When I knew if he could help or not.'

The muscle in his jaw twitches. 'Just once, I'd like you to trust me enough to tell me what's going on.'

'Killian, this wasn't about trust. It was about giving David time before you started picking him apart again.'

'What does he think he's going to find?'

'I don't know, but isn't it worth a few more hours to find out?'

'We need to be looking for Liam, Swan. It's only a matter of time before someone else twigs that if you're alive when you're not meant to be, he might be too.' He shakes his head. 'Some days I really wish you remembered all this shit.'

I don't answer because I know full well that mist days he's glad I don't.'

Killian sets off again. We don't speak while we cross the road, stopping halfway to wait for an old jeep to pass us.

'Look, I need a bit longer. For Mary Margaret. That's all I'm asking. David will watch out for her if we're not here, I know that. But if there's something else we can do to protect her from Regina and Robin I want to try.'

He turns to me as we walk, let's his breath out. 'A couple more hours. That's it.'

I nod. It's not much of a concession, but I'll take what I can get. We're halfway down Main Street now. 'Granny's,' I ask realising that's where we've been heading.

He shrugs. His sleeve is torn and his arm is still bleeding.

'The owner's not going to be impressed if you go in looking like that.' I say. 'Let's go home first, tidy it up.'

Killian tilts his arm to get a better look. 'A quick shift will fix it.'

'With who, Vic!' My stomach does a small flip. Like it does every time Killian says he's leaving Storybrooke. If he'd taught me to shift, I could heal him. But it's another one of those things he keeps mentioning but does nothing about.

'How long will you be?'

He looks away.

Killian has left to go and see Red and Vic three times already in the last two days. Most times he's only gone an hour or so. Most times I don't provoke him this much before he leaves.

'Maybe they could come here.' I say. I miss Red. She's always so sensible and reassuring - she's one of the only Rephaite who's given me straight answers this past week.

'And do what? Hang out at my place?' Killian stops in front of the driveway between Granny's and the shop next door. He gives me a once-over and steps closer. 'Turn around.'

'Why?'

'You've got dirt and fluff on you.'

Of course I do - I was lying on the filthy floor in the back room of the Rabbit Hole not so long ago.

Killian holds my shoulder to keep me steady while he dusts me off. 'All good.' His hand slides down my arm, falls away. He walks into the driveway. I'm ready for him to shift , for the driveway to be one empty, but he hesitates.

'What?' I ask.

His eyes search my face. A few seconds pass. 'Nothing.'

And then he's gone.

It's only when I'm standing outside Granny's that it hits me. He was waiting for me to ask him to stay.


	31. Chapter 31

TEA... NO SYMPATHY

Mary Margaret is busy cleaning her classroom when I arrive. I hand her a hot coco with cinnamon and find a table next to the classroom window, looking out into the Main Street. Let the familiarity of Storybrooke ground me: the shops in the street, the people that call this place home, the knowledge of the beach not far from where I'm sitting. Even after everything that's happened here, it's still the closest thing I have to a home.

There's not many people out in the street, despite the appearance of the sun. Only a few omitted joggers, listening to music and wearing too much lycra.

I chase thoughts of Liam. Again. Tomorrow is the anniversary of his death. Or at least the death I remember. The moment that changed everything: squealing tyres, smashing glass, the car crumpling around us. Blood. Rain. Petrol.

I've known for a week it never happened. So why does it still feel do real?

Of course I want to know if Liam's alive. Of course I want to find him. How could I not? But Killian talks about it as though it's some easy two-step process: search for Liam, find Liam. But what if we don't find him? What then? Or what if-

'You're going to get premature wrinkles if you don't stop that.' Mary Margaret picks up her hot cocoa and flops into a chair opposite me. 'I take it the Dwarfs weren't in the mood for talking?'

I dig my fingers into my shoulder, try to make the muscle relax. 'Oh, Stealthy and Leroy were talking. Killian just didn't like what he heard.'

She moves the flowerpot at the nearest table. 'How bad?'

'Stitches and plaster. Not for Killian, obviously.'

Mary Margaret leaves the flowerpot and glances back out the window. 'Do you think they got the message?'

'They think the hellions are part of a government conspiracy.'

'Who told them that?'

'I sort of them them believe it.'

Mary Margaret's eyes drop to my knuckles, which are still red, but she doesn't say anything. 'I saw Neal earlier.' She changes the subject.

'When?'

'When I was on the way here.'

'Hows he doing?'

'Better.'

I've seen Neal since Tuesday night. Since he saw the freak show deep in the forest and accused me of putting Mary Margaret in harms way. Since he found out I'm the bastard offspring of a fallen angel. Since he learned enough to regret kissing me the night Mary Margaret was taken. And since I learned how creepy it feels to kiss a nice guy when you don't mean it. I've seen Neal - but I haven't spoken to him. It's not my fault he won't make eye contact when I go to The Rabbit Hole.

Mary Margaret studies me. 'What else is going on?'

A week ago, she wouldn't have pushed me. A lot can happen in a week.

I sigh, sip my cocoa. It's chocolatey with just that hint of cinnamon. 'I had to tell Killian what David's trying to do.'

'Oh... How did he take it?'

'He was cool.'

'Not! He's impatient to go to New York.'

'Why do you have to go traveling at all? Can't you call the hospital and ask if anyone remembers you?' She gets up and stacks staking some workbooks on the side of the table.

'If we can find the nurse who told me Liam was dead, she might know something that will help Killian work out who changed my memories... Maybe give us a lead on what happened to Liam. It's not really a phone conversation.'

Mary Margaret cradles the workbooks. 'When are you going?'

'Not until David gets back. Hopefully he'll find what he's looking for today.'

She readjusts the stack in her arms. 'You don't have to wait. I'll be fine.'

'Yeah, Mary Margaret, after shadowing you for the past two days I'm just going to leave you here alone.'

'Do you really think Regina or Robin will try something?'

'I don't know but I'd rather have David here, especially if he's armed with something that means you can't be forced to shift.'

Mary Margaret presses her lips together; I know how much she hates blink-of-an-eye travel with the Rephaim.

'Regina won't hurt you - she wouldn't be game - but I don't trust her not to take you for leverage again. Or fun. No way are we making it easy for her. Plus'- I give her a meaningful look - 'David made me promise we wouldn't leave until he's back in Storybrooke.'

'He still feels guilty about lying to me.'

'You know it's more than that.'

She drops her eyes. Another glance out the window. 'I'll come back in a sec. Let me know if you need anything?'

When she's gone, I sit back in my miniature chair and watch the world pass by. Two women in matching jeans and coloured jumpers cross Main Street, deep in conversation. They have the same pleasant round face and mousy hair. Mother and daughter. The younger woman uses her hands to demonstrate something and her mother throws head back, laughs. I swirl the cocoa in my cup, stirring the remaining chocolatey liquid. I never had a moment like that with my mother-not ever. The sun moves behind a cloud and the room looses some of its warmth.

I pick at a splinter sticking up on the side of the chair. My real mother. What would it have been like to know her? To grow up on a sheep farm in a small town by the sea right here in America with Liam, alongside David and his mother? The three of us maybe never fully understanding what we were, still having each other. But Rumplestiltskin found Liam and me like he did the other half-angel babies, killed our mother and took us. David escaped his notice because he didn't realise two women from the same family fell pregnant to the Fallen. So it was David who got to have a mother. David who got to be a part of a family - a real family. I've never made friends easily, but an actual all American family? That would have been different.

Mary Margaret is already coming back into the room. Her eyes are locked on me, her steps stilted. There's someone behind her, close, as if they're waiting for an opportunity to pass. A flash of black hair.

Shit. Regina.

I push back my chair and stand up.

'Calm down,' she says to me over Mary Margaret's shoulder. 'I didn't come here to fight.' Her hair is hanging loosely around her face.

'Then step away from Mary Margaret.'.

Regina holds up her hands. 'Not even touching.' She doesn't try to stop Mary Margaret hurrying to my side of the table.

Regina is wearing a sensible pants suit. I've yet to see her in anything resembling warm, or casual. The dressing on her neck is the on,y evidence of Tuesday night's hellion attack.

'What are you so twitchy about?' she says. 'You knew I was coming.'

She's right. I should have been paying attention, not sitting here feeling sorry for myself.

'Where's Robin?'

'Not here. Where's Killian?'

'Not here,' I mimic. We watch each other for a few seconds. 'If you didn't come here to fight, what do you want?'

'Coffee please, black two sugars, that'll do for a start.'

'Granny's is down the street. Don't get lost.'

'Your friend can fetch it for me.' She means Mary Margaret. Regina sits down, puts her feet up on the chair opposite. Her shoulders are loose and her face is relaxed - as relaxed as Regina gets, anyway - so maybe she's not looking for trouble. Yet. That's no comfort to Mary Margaret. The last time Regina was this close she had a sword at her throat. A night and a day, that's how long Regina, Robin and August had Mary Margaret at the cabin in the woods, using her to get to me. Though in fairness, August wasn't a prick about it. He even seemed happy to see me when I turned up with Killian, Red and Vic.

None of them hurt Mary Margaret, not really, but the experience still left scars. I'm looking at the damage right now. Mary Margaret is next to me, fingers pressing into her elbows. Here in the safety of Storybrooke's school, she's afraid. I hate that I've taken the safety of her home from her.

'Can Mary Margaret get you that coffee without having to watch her back?'

'We're not going anywhere today.'

I don't miss the emphasis on the last word. Regina looks out across the road, loosing interest in our conversation. I only sit back down when Mary Margaret is safety out of the room.

'So what, you're going to stalk me now?'

Regina drags her attention back from the outside world. 'Just following Graham's orders.'

'Which orders, specifically?'

'To keep you safe.' She gives me an ironic smile.

I laugh. 'I think we both know I'm safer without you around.'

'Maybe. But without me here, you might think you can run off after the Fallen again.'

I let my head fall back in exasperation. There's no point telling her yet again that I'm not interested in looking for the Fallen. But then I'm not telling her who I am looking for either.

'Anyone would think Graham still cared about you.' She shakes her head in mock regret. 'You should have stayed with him, Swan. Walking away from him was your first big mistake. But I guess he got his own back in the cage.'

Another piece of my past I can't quite get a handle on: I used to date a member of the Rephaite Council of Five. Maybe it would make more sense if I'd only seen a photo of Graham-no doubt, he's breathtaking. But there's nothing I've seen about him this last week that explains any old attachment, and that was before he put me in the cage with the hellion.

'So I'll be keeping a close eye on you,' Regina says. 'But don't fret, I know how to keep a low profile. I've got a job.'

I snort. 'Where?'

'With your barman.'

'Since when?'

'About ten minutes ago.'

'Bullshit. Neal knows what you are. He'd never give you a job. Wait-did you threaten him?'

She shifts in her seat. 'I may have pointed out that he knows things that could get him killed and it would be in his best interests to help me out.'

'Will won't hire you just because Neal asks him to.'

'Already sorted. Will took a bit of a shine to me.'

'To you? Doubtful.'

But she's half angel, isn't she? Her eyes are dark and perceptive and beautiful. She's effortlessly graceful. It's not inconceivable that someone who didn't know her might find her attractive.

My new phone rings:the song I subconsciously know without even knowing it. Killian picked the ringtone-his idea of a joke. I check the screen:David. I let it go to voicemail in case it's a conversation I don't want to have in front of Mary Margaret.

'Who was that?' she asks.

'None of your business.'

'Was it Neal?'

I settle back in my chair. 'You worried he'll find out you'll be useless come happy hour?'

'Please. I was tending bar before either of those boys were born.'

''When? Before you realised your true calling was kicking heads?'

She gives me a curious look. 'What I'd it you think we do?'

'I...' I stop. 'You search for the Fallen.'

'And how do you think we do that?'

I shrug. 'Enlighten me.'

Regina smiles but there's nothing friendly about it. 'Who would have thought the day would come when I'd have to explain something to the great Emma Swan.'

Oh, fuck off.

'I wonder what Liam would think if he could see you now, all clueless and peace-loving.'

I push the thought aside before it digs in. 'Get on with it.'

'Fine.' She pauses for a moment and we let time tick past, slowly. 'Semyaza and the rest of the Fallen are most likely in another dimension, maybe trapped there. Unless of course you and Liam set them free last year.'

I give her a filthy look.

'Come on, what do you think you two were doing? What else but the Fallen would have brought you back together after all that time? And why all the secrecy of you weren't doing something wrong?'

Regina waits for me to bite. I don't. It's not hard: we both know I can't remember.

'Anyway,' she says, ' that many supernatural beings couldn't have crossed over without leaving a residual footprint.'

'Like what?'

'Natural disasters, sudden wars-'

'Even after all this time? It's been a hundred and forty years, hasn't it?'

'We're talking about former members of the Angelic Garrison. We know their stint in hell dulled their glory, but they're still angels and that sort of power doesn't disappear. It sweeps into everything and everyone.'

'Wouldn't they have a good influence?'

'They were fresh out of the pit. They would have reeked of the place.'

A blue bird sings in the distance.

'So when something weird or inexplicable happens, we check it out. Look around, chat to the locals, keep an eye out for demons. If put scum are sniffing around, there a good chance they're on to something. They have a better nose for that stuff.'

She's talking about the surveillance jobs Lily mentioned when I was at the Sanctuary. I wish it was Lily sitting here explaining this to me, but she messaged me yesterday to say Graham had ordered her to Syria to check out a demon sighting. One of the few Rephaim at the Sanctuary who doesn't think I'm the enemy, sent on a sudden mission. Convenient.

'And you work in bars to do that?'

'Every tired little town in the world has a bar or a coffee house. That's where people talk.'

I pause. 'Is that what I used to do?'

'On,y if you thought there was the chance of a fight.'

I turn my empty cocoa cup in a three sixty degree circle. 'Semyaza was the ringleader, right? I don't understand how Rumplestiltskin lost contact with him in the first place. Didn't all the Fallen escape hell together?'

'Nathaniel didn't sin again with the rest of them, so the bond they sealed before their fall was broken.'

What the hell were they thinking? Seamy aaa and two hundred angels sent to hell thousands of years ago for seducing human women. They finally break out, and do the same thing all over again. Except Rumplestiltskin. And now he and the Rephaim are obsessed with finding Rumplestiltskin's missing brothers.

'Aren't you even a little bit curious about them?'

'No.' She says it quickly, as if even thinking about it is wrong.

'Youve never wondered which one is your father?'

Regina's eyes darken. 'This is what hanging out with Outcasts does. It muddies the water. Don't let Killian fill your head with that crap.'

Mary Margaret comes back in with Regina's coffee. She comes to my side of the table, slams the cup down and slides it across with one finger. She forces herself to look at Regina. 'Happy now?'

'Not quite. I wouldn't mind a chat with your boyfriend.'

Mary Margaret stiffens. 'Why?'

'He needs to understand to keep his mouth shut.'

I hide my surprise. Regina still doesn't know David is Rephaite. Does that mean August hasn't told anyone he saw David shift with Mary Margaret in the cabin? Why would he keep that to himself?

'David gets it.' I say

'That doesn't let him off the hook. And what about your little eight friends?'

'The Dwarfs? Killian's taken care of it.'

Mary Margaret clears her throat and gives me the signal to say she's heading home.

'Hows the bite,' I gesture to Regina's neck.

'Sore.' Her eyes fall to my matching scar. Thanks to Killian, the wound has almost completely healed, but there's nothing I can do about the ugly marks left behind.

Regina blows on her coffee. The smell of strong coffee wafts across the table.

'Why did you do it?'

'Do what?' I know what she's talking about. I want her to say it.

'Why did you jump in front of the hell-spawn?' She watches me. It's totally messing with her head that I saved her life in the forest.

'Let's call it bad judgement.'

She doesn't say anything. We both know it was more complicated than that.

My phone vibrates with a message. It's David. He's waiting at home. I need to go, but I can't look as though I'm in a hurry.

'So what's Robin going to do when he gets here? Wash glasses? Be Will's door bitch?'

'He's got priorities elsewhere for the moment.'

'Something more important than antagonising me? Must be big.' And then it hits me :maybe the Rephaim have a lead on the fallen. Maybe Lily's job in Syria is more than an excuse to distract her from what's happening in Storybrooke. My stomach flutters. I have no idea if that's food or bad news.

Regina stands up. 'I need to settle in. Don't go anywhere.'

Settle in? 'Where are you staying?'

'Granny's. Don't want to stray to far from work and all the excitement.'

'You worried about your barman?'

'Leave him alone, Regina. He doesn't care about us. He wants to forget we exsist.'

Her eyes sharpen. 'How many humans do you think know about the Rephaim?'

It's a rhetorical question so I don't bother answering.

'Right now about three dozen, and most of those are monks at the Sanctuary. That puts your friends here in a very elite group.'

'And whose fault is that? If you and Robin hadn't turned up, they'd still be oblivious.'

'No, Swan, if you hadn't turned up they'd be oblivious.'

'Then make my friends my responsibility,' I say, measuring my words. 'I'll take care of it.'

Regina laughs. 'Nice try. Graham's given me the job and, unlike other people at this table, I know how to follow order. So' - she drains her coffee - 'I'll take care of your mess.'

'


	32. Sorry

Hi.

So I know this annoying and probably frustrating, but I have decided not to continue with this story, purely because of copyrights. I have been using way too much of the original material and am starting to feel guilty, so I think it is best not to continue. I will take the story down shortly. I will still be continuing with my own, original stories just not this one. I sincerely apologies for the in convince and the disappointment. I hope you will all understand and I thank you for your support.

Lulling.

All rights go to:

Paula Weston - author of The Rephaim series.

Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz - creators of Once Upon A Time.


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